Dark Waltz
by BurningDownTheBridges
Summary: Every woman's dream is Damon Salvatore, the dashing whirlwind billionaire businessman. A chance meeting with a beautiful, mysterious brunette leads him reeling. As he falls harder for her, he unknowingly falls deeper into the dangerous closet of skeletons she tries to desperately hide. AU/AH Dark Themes
1. In The End

_**A/N:** I tried writing this story before, but ended up taking it off of Fanfiction and re-doing it. So here it is... _

_Oh, and Elena's surname is Pierce at the moment, but if I do continue the story, you'll find out why._

_Summary: _

_Twenty-one year old Elena Gilbert ran away to New York to restart her life. With a job that paid her a minimum wage, a tiny flat in East New York and a criminal for a room-mate Elena had never been better-off. To her, the job was a way of earning honest money, the flat was home and her room-mate would never let any harm come to her._

_Her horrific childhood in England had taught her that friendship, true happiness and love were things she'd never have; things she'd never deserve._

_Then a chance meeting with wealthy businessman and workaholic Damon Salvatore turned her world upside down. Over the next three years he gave her friendship and true happiness. And finally, he gave her something hundreds of other woman had tried to claim; his heart._

_Only that same night, Elena's past came back to haunt her, threatening the one thing that she'd trade her life for in a heartbeat._

_Damon._

_**Disclaimer**__: This story is based on characters created by L.J. Smith, and the TV series created by Kevin Williamson and Julie Plec. No copyright infringement intended._

* * *

_'It's the price I guess, for the lies I've told'_

* * *

"I'm Special Agent Williams and I'll be conducting the investigation into the attempted murders of decorated soldier Robert Stonebridge and CEO of Salvatore Corporations Damon Salvatore," the suited man said, confidently walking into the small interrogation room.

Taking a seat, he looked at the young, beautiful brunette who was staring vacantly at one of the metal walls in the room, her head turned away from him. Her dainty wrists were in handcuffs that were attached to the solid metal table, ensuring that she couldn't move.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked firmly.

He received no response, no signs of acknowledgement of his mere presence as she continued to stare at the wall. Her appearance didn't betray the fact that she was being convicted on two accounts of attempted murder and torture. Her porcelain features were unmarred, her hair was slightly messy and the sweats that she was wearing made her look like she was going for a morning jog.

"Miss Pierce, _do you want to tell me what happened?" _he repeated with an edge to his voice.

No response.

He opened the brown file that he'd brought into the interrogation room with him and pulled out two pictures.

Throwing them down on the table, he said, "Look at them."

She didn't, only blinking as she continued to stare at the wall impassively.

"I said, look at them," Williams growled.

He counted to ten in his head, before his rage took over and he slammed his fist down the table.

"Dammit, look at what you did to those men!" he demanded.

Elena blinked again, ignoring the man's obvious rage.

"Fine, I'll have to describe them to you," Williams bit out.

"Robert Stonebridge, 44 years old, served 8 years with the British National Intelligence," he began.

Stabbing his finger at the picture, he raised his voice as he said, "Robert Stonebridge, the man who is now _paralysed _from the waist down because of the knife that you rammed into his back."

Elena wasn't listening to him or the words that were pouring out of his mouth. If she had been listening, she would've told the man that his facts were incorrect.

_**Jonathan Pierce**. 44 years old, served 8 years with the British National Intelligence until he was dishonourably discharged due to recklessly endangering –and ending- the lives of his unit. He was given the new identity of 'Robert Stonebridge' to enable him to restart his life out of the National Intelligence. He joined the local police station and eventually became a corrupt cop._

* * *

"What have you got for me, Agent Rees?" The Assistant Director asked. He rarely did the dirty work on cases, but orders from the top meant that he had to oversee the entire investigation into what happened to Damon Salvatore.

"I can't access any of Robert Stonebridge's files in regards to his service with the British Intelligence. There are no records of family, previous work, schools he attended… It's like he didn't exist until the 1990s."

"The British have probably buried his files then," The Assistant Director deduced. Standing on the other side of the one-way mirror, he was able to watch the interrogation take place without being seen by anyone in the room; even Special Agent Williams didn't know that he was watching.

He could tell that the brunette wasn't actually in the room; her body was, but her mind was in a completely different place as the agent questioned her.

"Shit," the man muttered, knowing that they had barely made any headway with the case so far.

"_Damon Salvatore, 32 years old, the CEO of the transnational corporation Salvatore Inc." _

Williams picked up the picture and momentarily paused as he surveyed it; the photograph was of poor quality due to one of the first officers on the scene using their phone to take it; moments later the paramedics arrived and rushed the tortured man to hospital. The agent standing next to The Assistant Director audibly swallowed back bile as he saw the image. How the man in the photograph was still alive, he didn't know. The image was horrific, the things that were done to Damon Salvatore unimaginable… excruciating agony not even covering the pain that he must've experienced.

Still looking at the picture, Williams began to describe it, _"Mr Salvatore, the man who you tortured; the man who's currently in major surgery and barely hanging onto his life by a thread."_

"You can leave, Agent Rees," The Assistant Director instructed, watching Miss Pierce with a cool regard as Special Agent William's continued describing the horrifying details of what had taken place just hours ago.

"_His hands were tied with barbed wire, piercing his wrists and shredding his skin. His ankles had been tied to the legs of a wooden chair with the same wire, slicing his skin. There's a pool of water surrounding him from the multiple times that he'd been water boarded-"_

As William's said the latter sentence, the brunette visibly flinched and a moment of sheer agony flashed across her face. William's obviously caught the millisecond of emotion that was displayed as he pressed forward with his description.

"_His face is dripping with blood, his jaw fractured from a crow bar being swung."_

Miss Pierce flinched again.

The Assistant Director's gaze flickered down to her hands that were mostly concealed by her jumper sleeves; however he'd watched her be led into the interrogation room and seen her hands which were bloodied, broken and bruised; another piece of evidence against the young woman.

"_Five of his ribs were broken; his chest covered in bruises where he'd been beaten with the crow bar Miss Pierce."_

Williams leaned forward, whispering confidently, _"What I want to know though is how you got him there in the first place. Mr Salvatore's a strong and healthy man, there's not a chance in hell that you could've subdued him. Unless of course, you seduced him…" _

There was no response from her after he said that, so he continued down the route of describing the image in all its gory detail.

"_His torso is drenched in blood from the multiple stabs wounds that were inflicted on him. He was stabbed over and __**over again**__ by the same knife that was used to paralyse Mr Stonebridge." _She swallowed heavily as he said that and clearly pleased that he was evoking a reaction from the stoic brunette, Williams raised his voice as he carried on.

"_His leg was broken in multiple places where the impact of the crow bar caused his bones to shatter! A soaked towel and six empty one-gallon water containers were discarded after he'd been drowned and revived for the last time. We found him with a piece of cloth wrapped around his mouth which stopped him from making any sound as each horrific act of violence was carried out on him…"_

The brunette's body did not move or betray any of her thoughts or feelings; except her eyes. Large, chocolate doe eyes filled with tears that The Assistant Director watched fall as Williams spoke vehemently about the torture that Damon Salvatore had endured.

On the other hand, the lack of reaction that she'd had to Robert Stonebridge's injuries indicated that Miss Pierce felt no guilt, no remorse; she felt nothing in regards to the fact that he was now _paralysed._

And to The Assistant Director, that meant that Miss Pierce loathed Robert Stonebridge.

And that gave Miss Pierce a motive.

* * *

"_That's enough Agent Williams," The Assistant Director's voice came through in Williams' earpiece, signalling the end of the first interrogation of Miss Pierce._

Elena was thankful when the Special Agent had stopped talking. She didn't need to hear anything else about what had happened to Damon; however she was desperate to hear _anything _about what was happening to him now.

_I'm so sorry. _

_Please survive._

_I'm so sorry._

_For everything._

_Please survive._

They were the words that she'd been repeating over and over in her head. Everything that had happened to Damon was her fault.

_Everything. _

She knew that she was going to be sentenced to death for all the crimes that they were accusing her of. The only one that she was actually guilty of was stabbing John and she would _never _regret that.

Elena knew that she could try to defend herself, but she didn't want to. John was paralysed; he could never lay a hand on anyone ever again. There was no point in trying to tell the Feds that he was the guilty one, there was no substantiating evidence and the one witness was Damon; the one who was currently fighting for his life.

Elena _knew_ that he would survive the surgery, then survive the trauma and then he'd continue living. He was _Damon__. _He _had _to survive.

The other option was unthinkable.

Elena didn't care that he was the only person who could save her from death row or a life sentence; she just needed him to survive everything and _live. _Elena didn't want him to wake up and be dragged through court and have to deal with more of her problems; that was one of the reasons why she was taking the blame for everything.

The other was the fact that she deserved the death sentence.

John's paralysis was penance for what he'd done to Damon; death was _too easy _for him. Then again, Elena knew that she was the reason that John had tortured and attempted to kill Damon; death was too easy for _her. _

_If you die, Damon can forget you and get on with his life… without you, _her subconscious whispered.

Elena knew that was the _right _thing to do now; if she was gone, there'd be no reminders of her either. Damon would be free of her…

Even though she knew it was right, that thought caused Elena's heart to shred apart.

She couldn't physically bring herself to move in that moment. There was too much mental and physical pain coursing through her and ironically she was the one who felt paralysed. Sat in a small, metal interrogation room, handcuffed to a steel table, she was accepting the fact that soon enough, she'd be sentenced to death; whether it was rotting away in prison, or the lethal injection. At the same time a man, who should be safe and _happy, _was lying on a cold, metal operating table, on the edge of death. Yet the man who had caused all of the pain and horror was escaping, his only payment being his ability to walk; he still had his _life_ though,which he could _live. _The injustice of it all…

Elena wanted to scream, to cry and ask God what she'd ever done to him, what Damon had ever done to him to deserve _any _of this. Both of them had lived through their traumatic childhoods and they'd found each other, found _happiness. _

And now they were both on the verge of death.

Three years ago, Elena's plane had landed in New York and she'd been ready to leave her past behind her and try to see what it was like to be normal. All she'd wanted was to be free of her past; she hadn't expected friendship, happiness… anything; just freedom from her past.

Then she'd met Damon and somehow he'd made her _want _things; he'd made her want to _live _life. He'd given her hope. He'd given her happiness. And finally, he'd given her his heart_._

Just one week ago, Damon Salvatore had said the three words that no-one had _ever _said to her before and meant it.

If he'd said them one _day _earlier than that, those three words would've changed Elena _forever_.

Except Damon hadn't said them one day earlier; a different man had said different words to Elena that day, shattering every piece of hope and happiness that had ever resided within her.

And then Elena had run to the source of her hope and happiness for one final time, unaware that he'd say the three words that would _break _her in that moment; and in turn, break him.

* * *

One Week Ago

"_I…" Damon murmured, rousing Elena from her sleep._

_She turned around to face him, her chocolate curls cascading across the pillow. She opened her eyes, chocolate orbs hazy with sleep as she looked at the profile of the man who'd just woken her. Taking in his handsome features, immediately noticing how troubled - conflicted - he was, her eyes opened wider in apprehension._

_"What's wrong?" Elena whispered back, concern now etched across her face. He turned to look at her and she gasped when she saw tears glistening in his eyes. She had never seen him look at her with such emotion, had never seen water pool in those cerulean blue eyes. Her anxiety increased. Not now, he couldn't cry in front of her _now_._

_He inhaled jaggedly, closing his eyes before she felt his hand find hers beneath the silken sheets. She squeezed his hand lightly, trying desperately to give him any comfort that she could. Any comfort that she could offer him for the last time._

_When he opened his eyes again, he spoke softly._

_"I love you."_

_Elena took in a sharp breath, pain warping her own beautiful features._

_"No…" She whispered to herself, her voice barely audible; however she realised he'd heard it when she saw a single tear rolled down his cheek, a glistening trail left in its wake. _

_Oh God, he couldn't say those words now. Was this some sick joke that God was playing on them? On her? _

_If he'd said those three words to her any other day but today, she would've broken down in his arms. Her final wall of defence that surrounded her heart would've crumbled to the ground. All of her deep insecurities and fears she'd buried for over a decade would've rushed to the surface, causing her to tell him the truth about the girl he 'loved'. She would've divulged all of her secrets. She would've told him about her dark past, would've let him be the first person to see the damaged girl that she truly was. _

_And then at the end of it all, if he was still holding her, if he could still say that he loved her, she would've told him that he meant everything to her; because then he'd understand that that was her fucked up way of telling him that she loved him with all of her broken, shattered heart. _

_He'd said them today though, so she couldn't collapse in his embrace. She had to leave and reject his heartbreakingly beautiful admission of love. _

_"I- I have to go." She quickly got out of the bed, finding her discarded jeans on the floor and pulling them on before buttoning up the John Varvatos shirt she was already wearing. It was the shirt that she had claimed to be her own after he had caught her wearing it so many times he simply let her keep it. _

_Damon remained lying down as she moved, slowly sitting up as she'd finished buttoning the shirt._

_"Where are you going?" His voice sounded scratchy as he asked her a question which she didn't have an answer for._

_"Out. I have to leave," she replied vaguely. It was true though; she had to leave soon if she had any chance of not breaking down in front of him. If she stayed, she wouldn't be able to leave and she couldn't risk that; she couldn't risk endangering his life any more than she already had. _

Oh God_, she thought as Damon looked so _vulnerable._ The most beautiful sight she'd ever seen… she longed to stay and hold him, kiss him…_

_She couldn't though, because he didn't know who he was opening his heart to, he didn't know that she was leaving because she'd already endangered his life. She didn't deserve to be within a 1000mile radius of such a beautiful man, let alone be on the receiving end of such a perfect declaration of love._

_"What? Why?" Damon asked and his voice filled with a blend of shock and confusion._

_"You don't know what you're saying. You don't-" He cut her off before she could even try to complete the sentence._

_"I know what I am saying, dammit!" His voice was raised, but as he shouted, his voice cracked and betrayed the maelstrom of emotions that he was feeling. _

_"You don't! You can't-" She choked on the word. "You just can't. Now I have to leave." With that, she took a deep breath and began striding toward the door of his bedroom. Just as her hand touched the cold metal of the door handle a much larger hand came to rest on the mahogany door, applying enough pressure to stop her from throwing it open and running. No. She had to go now because otherwise…_

_No, she couldn't think about 'otherwise'. _

Fuck,_ she thought, cursing herself. She shouldn't have let herself be drawn in by him in the first place. She should've walked in the other direction at the first chance she had, instead she allowed him to get close to her, closer than any other person had ever been to her until she found herself in way too deep- unable to walk away. Now she had to run to save him from herself. She was toxic… if only she hadn't forgotten that fact…_

_She began to pull on the handle, ignoring the shivers that ran through her body by being so close to him. Both her hands grasped the handle, pulling with all her strength to open the damned door and she began begging him to let her go. He stayed behind her, motionless as she tried to run from him; Elena just wished she had time to tell him why. She didn't have the luxury of time though. At that thought, her attempts became more frantic, pulling and pulling despite the fact that the mahogany door did not even move as his single palm pressed against it was stronger than all of her strength combined. _

_She became increasingly angered by her futile attempts. She was doing this for him! Why couldn't he let her just go? (She had to ignore the selfish part of her that revelled in someone fighting for her for the first time, someone who _wasn't_ willing to let her go.) Her hands became fists as she took out her overwhelming torrent of emotions on the wood in front of her. _

_DAMN **HIM**, she cursed over and over in her head. Every fucking moment of pure happiness, was ruined because of her own flesh and blood. _

_She should be running into Damon's arms, not away from them; but she had to run from Damon now, to save him from the man that had destroyed her from the inside out; the man that was capable of doing the same to Damon._

_Elena couldn't let that happen. _

_Letting Damon go though… It felt like her pathetic, broken heart was being ripped into even smaller pieces. _

_Elenaa had never lost it like this in front of Damon, but she no longer__ cared about dignity or beauty or normalcy; nothing except Damon's safety mattered anymore._

_Her hands began to hurt, the skin of her knuckles splitting as she put everything she had into striking the door. Blood began to seep into her new wounds, but she didn't notice, having endured far more pain than this before. _

_Her punches began to cease as she tired until a strangled sob left her lips and she pivoted to face him with her gaze anywhere but his eyes. They were oceans. Gorgeous, infinite pools of cerulean blue and she knew that she would lose herself in their swirling depths. She couldn't afford to, for his sake._

_"Please…"_

_"Why? Why are you like this?" He asked her, despair lacing his words. She shook her head, a broken look on her face that mirrored the one that he was wearing minutes ago._

_"You can't-" She choked again. He couldn't love her. If he knew the whole truth, he wouldn't love her. Elena had never said the word 'love' in this context before and she kept choking on the word. Any other day and she would've told him her dark, horrific story and opened herself up for rejection or acceptance. Now, she was remembering the fact that she didn't even deserve the chance to be fully accepted –fully loved- by _anyone.

_He laughed a bitter, disgusted laugh. "I can't what, Elena__?" She decided then and there that she never wanted to hear someone say her name like that again; so caustic, so angry, so abhorred._

_"I can't love you?" He snapped. "Well too fucking late!" She flinched, pressing herself further against the door._

_He stepped back, shaking his head in an incredulous way, the low laugh that held no mirth echoing in the room again. _

_"You can't even say the word, can you? God… I thought I was emotionally stunted, but you, you're something else!" _He's hurt, he's lashing out now,_ Elena reminded herself. If only he knew that she was the complete opposite, she felt too much. _

_If she felt just a tiny little bit less, she'd leave now. _

_Instead Elena continued to watch him glare at her, his icy gaze penetrating her. _She'd _done this to him. She shouldn't have even come here in the first place. It was too selfish. _

_She'd wanted a goodbye, just one last chance to touch him, kiss him… be with him before she left. _

_Her selfishness had meant that he'd hurt even more now._

_He looked so lost in his own tornado of emotions and thoughts as he stood still, his entire body tensed and every muscle coiled. She knew that'd he'd never looked more __beautiful though, the moonlight illuminating his sculpted, naked body and his eyes burning with an awe-inspiring intensity._

_"I'm an idiot. For one second I thought I could say that and you wouldn't just run. Stupid. Fucking. Idiot." She cringed at his crude language, looking at her feet in shame. Once his rant was over, she'd leave and never look back. He could go back to living his life, find someone worthy of him and be happy. She'd fade into the background, a faint memory of a girl he used to know. Elena mentally nodded to herself, desperately trying to believe that that would work. It had to._

_"Of course I should've known though, right? I mean, all you do is run. Hell, you ran from your own family!" Elena's head snapped up at that last sentence. He didn't just say that, did he? No… no-one could sink that low, could they? She didn't care at that moment what he was feeling, she was trying to do something she should've done a long time ago for him- walk away, but he'd gone there. _

_He was a few feet away from her, but within seconds she'd crossed that space and slapped him. _Hard._ His head whipped to the side, a red hand print visible on his left cheek as he slowly turned back to look at her. Fury blazed in his eyes, turning them a darker shade of blue. When he met her gaze, his expression softened. Elena could feel tears stinging her eyes, and she pressed her nails into the palms of her hands, betrayal burning her from within._

_"I know you don't understand what I'm doing right now. Why I'm doing it… but I'm doing it for you. You don't really know who I am; I've only ever given you pieces of me. If I told you everything, I wouldn't be standing in front of you. But I'm selfish. I couldn't let you go, so I let you in. I let you…" Elena let out a shaky laugh that was filled with sadness. "I let you see a part of me no-one's ever seen before, and I told you about my brother. I told you! I told you in confidence, out of trust… If I'd known you would throw it back in my face so easily…" It was her turn to shake her head dejectedly._

_His anger had visibly dissipated after he'd heard her words. He lifted his hand, reaching out to cup her face, craving contact with her. Elena let him cradle her face in the palm of his hand and going against everything she was trying to do, instinctively leant into his touch. He didn't realise that she felt like her heart was being ripped out of her chest too. He didn't know that her heart had already been shattered, now barely held together with her own tape and glue._

_Elena knew that she couldn't tell him the main reason why she was leaving now, so she let her insecurities take over her. She let her fears and her guilt control what her next words were._

_Opening his mouth to say something, he was cut off by her small, wavering voice._

_"I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to walk away in the beginning... I'm broken. You don't want someone like me, you deserve someone that is good, that's not worthless… I'm sorry I stayed! I'm selfish, far too selfish." A traitorous tear ran down her face. Saying all these things aloud brought back so many tragic memories, compounding the pain she already felt from tonight. _

"_I'm leaving for you. You'll understand soon, Damon," she whispered._

_Elena gently placed both her hands upon the one he held to her face, his thumb soothingly caressing her cheek. She moved his hand away, breaking the contact and letting it go, so it fell limply to his side. Her feet carried her back to the door, her slightly bloodied hand pulling the door open. Turning her head to take one last look at the man that made her feel like love truly could exist, she murmured,_

_"Goodbye, Damon."_

* * *

It hadn't been their last goodbye though… she'd seen him again.

She'd seen him in the one place that he should never have been in. The place that she'd tried to save him from. She'd willingly traded her life for the promise that Damon would never end up there.

John should've fucking killed her.

John should've kept his fucking word.

The monster…

As all of the thoughts and memories swirled within Elena, she stared at the wall. She'd ignored the Special Agent as she'd been drowning herself in self-loathing, but as soon as he'd begun to only talk about Damon, she'd listened.

She'd listened to the sickening, horrifying description of what John had done to the man who meant everything to her.

She'd listened to the torture that that man had gone through because of her.

Then the tears began to fall as her chest constricted, her heart beat erratically and her entire body felt like it was being torn apart.

Abruptly breaking her out of her thoughts, Special Agent Williams stood up. The sound of the chair scraping back across the floor filled the small room.

She slowly turned her head to look at him, the movement surprising him.

Her neck ached from the simply manoeuvre. Her entire body hurt, throbbing in agony from the torture that she'd barely survived. Elena had become accustomed to passing out from sheer pain from a young age. She knew that she had a few seconds left of consciousness; it was all her body could take. Not that the Special Agent knew about the anguish she was in, mentally and physically.

* * *

The Assistant Director shoved a hand through his chestnut-coloured hair, trying to think about his next move.

Having given Special Agent Williams the order to leave the interrogation room, The Assistant Director was considering talking to Miss Pierce himself. If he could get a confession from her, it'd be enough to pin all the charges on her. Then the case would be closed and his boss would stop breathing down his neck to wrap up the disturbing and high priority case.

He began to walk towards the door, ready to exit the small viewing room when he heard a small, scratchy whisper come from the interrogation room.

Whirling around, he saw the agent in the room was just as shocked as he was when the beautiful, but previously silent brunette whispered painfully, "Special Agent Williams?"

His attention obviously captured, the agent folded his arms across his chest and said, "Yes?"

"I-"

The young woman never finished her sentence as she suddenly fell forward, her entire body becoming limp as she lost consciousness.

* * *

_**A/N: **Please review- Should I continue?  
_


	2. Moving To New York

_**A/N: **I'm really sorry, I tried to upload this last night but FF wouldn't let me! Better late than never, I guess. I've changed the name of this story back to 'Untitled' because honestly, I still don't know what to call it._

_Thank you again to everyone who reviewed- each one made me want to continue this story. So here it is, the second chapter. I hope you like it._

_Please review!_

___**Disclaimer**__: This story is based on characters created by L.J. Smith, and the TV series created by Kevin Williamson and Julie Plec. No copyright infringement intended._

* * *

_'So I'm moving to New York because I've got problems with my sleep'_

* * *

Special Agent Williams' instinctual reaction was to save the young woman as her entire body became limp and her head began to fall forward. Instantaneously he launched himself forward and caught her upper body before her head could crash onto the hard, metal table.

Within seconds, her eyes fluttered open and Williams released her from his hold as she sat up on her own.

Elena blinked slowly, surprised that she'd regained conciousness so quickly. Knowing that she didn't have time to think about her sudden wakefulness, she turned to look at the agent who was now stood one foot away from her.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, his large arms crossed over his chest in an authoritative manner.

"Torturing people really takes it out of you," Elena replied coolly.

His eyes widened fractionally at her words, "Is that a confession?"

"Yes."

* * *

Three years ago

The airport taxi pulled away from the curb and Elena stood on the pavement of a continent that was thousands of miles away from the place that she lived in for her whole life.

The car ride from JFK had been far too short and within half an hour, Elena had found herself staring up at the huge block of flats in East New York; staring up at the place she'd now call home.

It was mid-September and today was normal to most people, however for Elena it was a landmark. Today was the day that Elena could begin to breathe. Today was the day that Elena could let down most of her defences and show emotion. Today was that day that she'd stop being constantly afraid of discovery.

Today was _the _day.

Re-adjusting her duffel bag on her shoulder, she picked up her small black suitcase and walked toward the heavy set pair of wooden doors which were the entrance to the block of flats. On closer inspection, she noticed that the doors were covered in scuff marks, scratches and dents; the large, battered doors were surprisingly easy to push open though.

Walking straight toward the elevator, Elena pressed 'up' and watched the small, triangular button become illuminated in neon green. Tapping her foot while she waited, Elena took in her surroundings: the beige lino floor was yellowed with age; the walls were painted white, but some of the plaster was visible where the paint had begun to peel; the single light bulb suspended from the ceiling cast a dim light on the area. The elevator and staircase were adjacent, and on either side of them was a corridor leading to the ground floor flats.

The elevator arrived and stepping into it, she pressed the button numbered 7- this time illuminating in neon orange when selected. The doors closed and the whirring sound of the elevator moving made her appreciate the fact that this place had an elevator that _worked._ In London, the block of flats that she'd lived in had a broken elevator which meant that the cast iron stairs that spiralled around the outside of the building were the only way Elena could reach her room on the 10th floor. Though her physique and fitness levels had improved greatly from this, when it was 3am, pouring with rain and she was on the verge of exhaustion after one of her night jobs…

Stopping her train of thought dead in its tracks, Elena just focused on locating apartment 7E after the elevator had reached the fifth floor.

The small key she'd put in the zip pocket of her duffle clicked into the lock of the flimsy, painted door with ease and Elena let the door swing open so she could walk into the flat. Shutting the door behind her with her military boot clad foot, Elena walked further into the main area of the room.

Leaving her luggage next to the small, stained fabric couch, she walked over to the kitchenette area. Situated at the back of the room, the three and a half metre long worktop stretched across the entire back wall with a sink in the middle of it. The kitchen consisted of the worktop, the sink, a kettle, a handful of cupboards and a wooden, square table that could seat two. A small window was above the sink and Elena could see another badly-built block of flats.

Opposite the kitchenette area was another square table and on top of it a small, fat TV; the fabric couch was facing the TV. On the other two walls of the box-like room was a door.

Elena walked over to the door that was on the east side of room and tried the doorknob, but found that the door was locked. Knocking on it, she received no reply so she tried the other door.

The door clicked and opened, showing a room that was about two metres by three metres. The base of a bed was there, along with a tiny wardrobe, a cracked mirror and a mottled grey carpet that was falling apart. The walls had peeling cream paint, but Elena couldn't bring herself to care.

_She had a bedroom. _

Grabbing all of her worldly possessions, Elena shoved her duffel bag and little black suitcase underneath the wooden bed frame.

Noticing a key that was precariously balanced on the bed frame, she used it to lock her bedroom door.

As soon as the lock clicked, she released a long breath and all the emotions she'd been suppressing for the last 14 hours hit her with the force of a freight train, causing the petite brunette to slide to floor; the floor of her bedroom, in her flat, in New York.

It was a bitter-sweet moment for her. For ten years, this was what had kept her going: her tiny, practically impossible dream of escaping to America and starting again. In that one moment her dream had come true. Sitting in the tiny bedroom was so poignant because it was now _her _tiny bedroom. This was a place she could finally call home.

_She finally had a home._

The bitterness was for the reason she began to have this dream and for who she left behind to achieve it. She finally let the tears she'd been holding back since she'd boarded the plane at Heathrow spill down her cheeks

In truth, the idea of this happening –her in America- was a dream, but she'd planned for it. From the age of 11, she had planned. As a teenager, while girls her age were out having fun and spending money their parents had given them, Elena had worked night shifts and weekends at the local restaurant; the owner didn't give a shit about her age as he was desperate so at 12 she started working there. By 15, she knew what university she was going to go to, what grades she needed and how much she needed to save to pay the tuition fees. At 17 she bought herself a motorbike in lieu of a car because it saved money, though she made sure to become fully licensed to drive the latter.

She'd _planned_ her impossible dream, to make it possible.

She had managed to place an ocean between herself and her past now. Never again, would she see their faces. A broken sob escaped her lips when she remembered who else she may never see again.

"Shit."

"_Shit." Elena cursed softly when __her eyes landed on the hunched over figure that was seated on the metal bench that ran along the glass wall of Heathrow Airport's entrance. Dressed in jeans and a hoody, his messy brown hair was soaked with rain and his canvas shoes had been drowned by muddy water._

_At the sound of approaching footsteps, the figure raised its head and stood up when they realised that it was Elena._

"_Elena! I thought I'd missed you." Jeremy threw his muscular arms around her small frame, enveloping her in a bear hug._

_Wrapping her arms around his back, she squeezed her eyes shut. This could be the last time that she'd ever see him. They stood by the bench, lost in the comfort of each other's embrace until Jeremy finally loosened his grip, taking a small step back._

_Looking up into his warm, chocolate eyes that mirrored her own, Elena revelled in the fact he'd come to say goodbye. Then she realised that he was at Heathrow Airport, at midnight on a Thursday…_

_Jeremy watched with an amused expression as Elena's face morphed into a look of confusion._

_"Jeremy__, how'd you know I'd be here now? And how did you get here?"_

_Last week Elena had visited her brother at his school's gates, taking him to a local café to explain that she was finally leaving. He'd taken the news well; after all she'd done for him, he was happy that his sister would finally have the chance to live her life. He'd rarely seen her smile. He could count the number of times she'd had a genuine smile on her face on one hand._

_He smiled sheepishly before replying, "I may have called Tyler and made him tell me your flight details. I snuck out the window and took two buses and the tube to get here." At the small scowl that crossed his sister's face at this information he added, "I wasn't going to let my sister fly half way across the world without saying a final goodbye to her!" She rolled her eyes playfully at him, her heart warmed by how much effort he'd gone to just to see her one last time._

"_As I don't have the energy to yell at you for sneaking across London at midnight, I'm just going to say that I'm proud of your resourcefulness." This time it was Jeremy who rolled his eyes, before pulling her in for another hug._

_The light mood quickly turned into one of melancholy as Jeremy whispered into her hair, "I'll miss you. I don't know how I'll repay you for what you've done sis."_

"_You don't have to Jer. You deserve it, you need it. Go to the art institute after sixth form and make the most of college life." She pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, emphasising the importance of what she was about to say. "And stay away from Uncle Rob. Promise me you will Jer."_

"_I promise." He assured her, and Elena let out a breath of relief as she relaxed back into his brotherly embrace. Elena had always tried to keep Jeremy away from Rob, even going as far as giving him food poisoning when he was younger to make sure he couldn't go to Rob's for the summer. Even now, she was yet to tell him why she wanted him to keep his distance from his Uncle; always shutting him down before he'd even had a chance to complete his sentence; now he just accepted it and he trusted Elena, so when she asked him to stay away, he did._

"_Elena, you can go now, it's okay. There are about five cabs out there that I can take! You need to go now." Jeremy still had his sister in his arms as he said this, but by the time he'd finished his sentence she had ducked out of the farewell hug, striding out of the entrance doors._

"_Elena! Where are you going?" He quickly followed her, only to find her leant over the wound-down window of a black cab, speaking animatedly. Seeing her pay the driver and even give the bald, burly man a warning glare, he laughed. Elena always had a protective streak in her and though he'd admit that when he was younger he found it anything but endearing, he now cherished that aspect of her._

_Elena chewed her lip in a bid to evade any tears welling in her eyes. Knowing what Jeremy had said was true – she did have to go – she kissed him on the cheek, her parting words, "Be safe, Jer. You have my new number in case of an emergency. If anything happens… you have Ty's address, go there. Good bye."_

_Before he could offer any reply Elena turned round, retracing her steps. Opening the cab door and sliding into the back seat, Jeremy kept his eyes on Elena's retreating form. A wistful smile graced the seventeen year old's lips; he owed everything to her._

"_Goodbye."_

"Goodbye." Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Chris threw open the door to his shitty flat and then kicked it shut behind him. He'd barely grunted the word 'goodbye' on the phone; he never said shit like that but when the police were on the phone…. He made an effort to not piss them off. They'd called him about bailing his brother's sorry ass out of Jail, but Chris had no intention of doing that; the stupid son of a bitch deserved it for being so damn stupid.

_Assaulting a police officer…_

Chris shook his head in disgust and grabbed a beer out of the tiny fridge. Then he heard the sound of a door opening and spun around. A skinny brunette stepped out of the room; a seriously hot brunette. However with big, brown innocent eyes and skin that wasn't black, he knew the girl wouldn't last long in this neighbourhood. Forgetting about his brother, Chris decided to confront the girl who was now living in his flat.

"Who the hell'are you den?"

Elena resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the guy in front of her who was acting like he owned East New York itself. At 6'4, he was entire foot taller than her. His dirty, baggy jeans and loose, white t-shirt didn't hide the bulging muscles that he possessed; the bulging muscles that obviously occurred due to steroid use. She'd known men like him before; she knew the tall, black guy in front of her was dangerous, had a gun and had used it.

"Elena. You?" She replied, holding her head high. She needed to cautiously walk the thin line between earning his respect and angering him.

"Chris," he said, taking another gulp of the cheap beer that he held in his hand. "Why the hell'are you 'ere British bitch?"

Her accent giving her away, Elena didn't bother to be offended by the way he referred to her.

"Got a new job. New life. I'm here cos' I haven't got any money," she said levelly, holding his gaze that was a blend of intrigue and annoyance.

He scoffed, gesturing vaguely at her with the wave of a calloused hand. "You ain't gonna last one minute 'ere. You ain't from 'ere and you ain't black. Dunno if you're brave or just plain stupid, bitch."

"Just stupid," Elena smirked.

Chris surprised her by grinning back. He'd decided he liked the new girl; she had balls.

His grin meant that Elena noticed his chipped teeth and she couldn't help but wonder just how many brawls he'd been in.

"How long you stayin'?" he said, heading towards his bedroom.

"No idea," Elena shook her head, resisting the urge to smile when the entire atmosphere became far less aggressive.

He came back out of his room with a cigarette in his mouth.

"Got a light?" he asked, mocking her. He had a lighter in his pocket; he just wanted to see if he could annoy the confident white chick.

Pulling a zippo from her back pocket, Elena tossed it to him and felt a small amount of satisfaction when his smugness faded.

He threw it back to her, taking a drag from the lit cigarette.

As he went to grab another beer, Elena asked, "Any internet cafés nearby?" Her plan was to go on Freecycle and get some things for the flat, but she needed a computer and internet for that.

"Yeh, two blocks away," he said, throwing a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the café.

Elena nodded, pushing away her impulse to thank him; politeness around here wasn't appreciated and it just made you look weak.

Turning away from Chris, Elena went back into her bedroom, shutting and locking the door. She needed to unpack and hide some of her things. In London, she'd learned where to hide her valuables so that they didn't get stolen.

Thirty minutes later, everything that was important was hidden under various floorboards and in nooks that she'd found in the bedroom and the minute ensuite room that contained a toilet and sink.

The few books she owned were placed upon the chest of drawers, her clothes were unpacked and her suitcase and duffle bag were underneath the frame of the bed.

Now all she needed to do was get a damn mattress.

* * *

"Crap," Elena cursed under her breath. This day was just throwing as much at her as possible. She'd taken it in her stride and revelled in her first day at work; she'd remained calm all day. However when she tripped and crashed to the floor in her flat later on in the evening, she found herself wanting to throw the world the middle finger. The entire week before had been alright, but today it'd gone downhill.

She'd had a week to settle into life in East New York and she'd managed to get a mattress, clean her room and the tiny ensuite, buy a new wardrobe for work and build a platonic, tentative sort of relationship with Chris; he'd probably rather be castrated than say he had any sort of 'relationship' with someone though…

Elena had done all of that until Monday had rolled around and she'd begun her first day of work at The New York Times Company. She was working in the area that published 'The Boston Globe' and was at the very bottom of the journalism food chain. She'd quickly discovered that fact when her new boss William Tanner had made it very clear that all she was good for was 'coffee, photocopying, paperwork and coffee'; one of the aspects Elena quickly learned and instantly loved about New York was that coffee was _key. _

Her boss was miserable and bitter though and she'd rapidly learned that she was only there to be seen and not heard. The rest of the day continued in a haze of broken photocopiers, running out of coffee beans and disgruntled work colleagues.

At the end of work she'd been kept behind by Tanner and been given a stack of trivial paperwork to complete by first thing tomorrow. Due to being made to stay at work for longer, she'd missed her bus and had to wait for another hour for the next one. When she'd finally got off the bus, she'd been leered at and stalked by a group of men as she'd made her way to the flat.

Yeh, today had been tough. She groaned, rolling onto her back and holding a hand to her head that was now throbbing from the impact of the fall.

"What the fuck, Elena?" Chris said as he walked into the flat and noticed her sprawled on the floor.

She used her other hand to flip him the middle finger and Chris grinned in amusement. Elena got up in time to see Chris saunter into his bedroom and shut the door.

Turning her head and noticing two looming figures at the doorway that were waiting for Chris, Elena made her way over to the fridge. As Chris emerged from his room with a bag slung over his shoulder that probably contained something illegal, Elena tossed him a beer which he swiftly caught and then walked back out of the flat.

The small flat still shaking from the force of the slammed door, Elena traipsed back into her room to make a start on all the paperwork that her new boss had given her.

* * *

Taking a long drag, the end of her cigarette smouldered with a brilliant orange hue for a moment before fading. Exhaling softly, Elena shut her eyes and smiled in contentment. She was lying on her front on the small amount of floor space that her room had and was surrounded by neatly organised stacks of paperwork. She held a pen in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The broken light above occasionally flickered and then continued to glow with a dim yellow light, casting the room in shadows but gave Elena enough visibility to work with. An old, battered, retro radio that Elena had also found on Freecycle sat on her bed, the soft sounds of The Pixies 'Where Is My Mind?' filling the room. Keeping her eyes closed, Elena languidly tapped a foot to the indie rock tune and lost herself in the perfect serenity that she'd found herself in.

Her phone buzzed quietly, signalling a text and Elena stretched out a hand to retrieve it from across the shabby, carpeted floor.

_The Autumn Formal in four weeks. Tanner will probably forget to mention it, but every employee's invited so thought I'd warn you. – Bekki_

Elena stared at the phone screen with a pensive expression. An 'Autumn Formal'; it sounded expensive and in all honesty, Elena wasn't sure that she should go. She didn't fit in _that _world. Taking another drag of her cigarette, she shuddered at the idea of being in a crowd of glamorous, wealthy people. Hell, she didn't even have her own shower. Every morning, she walked to the public centre on the outskirts of the area and used the gym and then hit the showers. Every morning, she got dressed for work in a small, stuffy locker room. Then she put her sweats away in a locker and took the bus to work. On the way home, she had to go back to her locker and change back into her sweats before walking back to the flat. Elena knew that her work attire would make her more of a target for all the people who hung around the streets, so it was safer to pull a hoody on and hide her face and the colour of her skin from everyone.

Somehow she doubted that anyone else at work had a morning routine as creative as hers and Elena smiled wryly at the thought. Her musings came to an end when she decided that she definitely wasn't cut out for The Autumn Formal… God, if they knew what she used to do; Elena doubted that the people at The New York Times Company would even want her to work for them…

Elena shook her head, her thoughts threatening to ruin the peaceful equilibrium that she'd reached. Tapping out a quick reply to Bekki -the only girl at work who'd actually spoken to her that day without a judgemental glare- Elena then went back to filling out all the paperwork, losing herself in a world of work and indie rock.

* * *

Four weeks later, Elena found herself entering a lavishly decorated ballroom that her entire flat could've fit into at least fifty times over. A couple of days ago, Tanner had finally informed her of The Autumn Formal but had added in the extra clause of 'I'll see you there Miss Pierce'; his tone of voice had carried the underlying meaning of 'you're going, no questions'.

Elena had only brought one dress with her that would be suitable enough for this occasion. However the only reason she'd brought it to New York was so she could sell the damn dress that she'd been given; she'd never got around to selling it back in London. Instead, she was now wearing the burgundy lace Karen Millen dress and she was struggling to push away all the brutal memories that it brought back to her.

_Bloody Tanner,_ she silently seethed. Another issue she'd discovered was actually getting to the company event. She couldn't afford a cab due to the journey and couldn't take the bus dressed to the nines. She also didn't have the option of someone picking her up; Elena didn't want any of the people at work to see where she lived. Luck was on Elena's side though because as soon as Bekki had found out that she was going to the ball, she'd asked the brunette to get ready with her.

In all honesty, Elena had never gotten ready for anything with anyone. Bekki's invitation had been thoughtful and helpful, so Elena had immediately accepted. However she hadn't expected her work colleague to be so kind with lending her shoes and helping her get ready; for a while, Elena had felt like she had a friend.

The kind, young woman lived in an apartment that was a ten minute walk from The New York Times skyscraper which Elena envied. The apartment was spacious and well furnished; a far cry from Elena & Chris' flat. The power shower had felt like heaven even though Elena barely spent five minutes it because she didn't want to add to Bekki's electricity and water bills.

After the shower, Elena had been informed that she was going to get a makeover and that it was non-negotiable. With a sleek, blonde bob and cat-like emerald eyes, Bekki always looked good at work and wore flawless make-up and sophisticated clothes. The blonde had far more skills and resources when it came to make-up and hair. Elena owned a Rimmel mascara, an eyeliner pencil, lip balm, compact powder and a hair brush. Bekki had a vanity with a huge, full length mirror and bags filled with MAC make-up and hair products.

Armed with a curling barrel, Bekki had transformed Elena's straight, waist-length hair into thick, luscious, chocolate curls that cascaded down her back. Skilfully applied smoky eye make-up had made Elena's doe eyes look even more striking and her lips had been stained a slightly deeper red to compliment her burgundy dress. The dress ended mid-thigh and paired with some black, suede platform heels (courtesy of Bekki), Elena had barely recognised herself when she'd looked at the mirror.

Within minutes of Elena being ready, the intercom had been buzzed by Bekki's long-term boyfriend. Nate worked on the 12th floor of the building had come to pick them up and take them to The Autumn Formal.

Upon arrival, Nate was swept into a group conversation and took his girlfriend with him. Forming a new resolve, Elena swallowed back the bitter feelings about her boss and the bitter memories that came with her dress. Then, she walked through the crowd slowly, absorbing the incredible architecture of the building.

A butler walked by Elena, pausing to offer her a flute of champagne that was balanced on a silver tray. Elena murmured a thank you and took one of the flutes. Taking a sip of the bubbly liquid, it slid down her throat but didn't settle in her stomach unlike the alcohol Elena was used to consuming.

Still in silent contemplation of the light and delicious drink, Elena looked up when she felt someone staring at her. Across the room, Jennifer was glaring daggers at Elena. Frowning in confusion, Elena looked away only to see Ben walking toward her.

Sending a small prayer to the higher powers, Elena smiled when Ben stopped next to her.

The man had been nothing but kind to Elena and she'd quickly begun to enjoy his company. They often ate lunch together if one of them wasn't too busy with work and his wicked sense of humour never failed to bring a smile to her face. There were no labels to what they had, but at times Elena found herself wondering if Ben was a friend; he'd be her first friend, as pathetic as that sounded.

No matter what they were though, Elena knew that Ben would help her survive the evening and for that she was grateful and relieved.

"Hey Elena."

"_Hey Elena," Ben said when her walked into the office's kitchen on the sixth floor. _

"_Hey Ben."_

"_Got a date for The Autumn Formal yet?" he asked teasingly, leaning against one of the countertops in the kitchen area while Elena made up the various different teas and coffees for a board meeting that was starting in ten minutes. _

_She smiled at his use of the word 'yet', as if it was set in stone that she was going to have one. _A date…_ she inwardly grimaced at the thought. _

"_No I haven't, but I'm not planning on going anyway," Elena replied softly._

"_Why not?" Ben questioned, surprised. He'd never known a girl pass up the opportunity to dress up and spend the night sipping expensive champagne. _

_Elena shrugged with a neutral expression on her face; she wasn't on planning on telling anyone the true reason why she wasn't going. So far, she'd had seven guys on the office floor ask her to be their date. Every time, she told them that she wasn't planning on going and when asked why, she'd shrug or say that it wasn't her 'scene' which was a partial truth. Frankly, she wasn't even sure why anyone was asking her to be their date; she had nothing to offer and she wasn't much to look at._

"_Fair enough," he said, masking the disappointment in his voice. Although he'd asked the question in a playful tone, he genuinely wanted to know the answer._

_Seeing her attempt to balance four large, ceramic kettles on a tray and a coffee dispenser filled with the boiling hot liquid, Ben walked over to help her. Gently taking the deceptively heavy tray from her, he began to walk to the boardroom._

_Elena beamed, unused to such kind gestures. Picking up the coffee dispenser, she followed after him._

"_Thank you, Ben," she said appreciatively as she placed the coffee down on the table next to the tray of teas._

_Her skin began to prickle and Elena looked out of the glass boardroom walls only to meet the intense glare of Jennifer. The blonde bombshell hadn't said a kind word to Elena in the two and half weeks that she'd been working at The Boston Globe and Elena couldn't understand what she'd ever done to warrant insults and glares from her. Jennifer was stunning and Elena was slightly jealous of the luscious blonde locks of hair, oceanic blue eyes and perfect creamy skin that Jennifer possessed. _

_Every time Elena felt jealous though, she reminded herself that beauty was attractive and the point of attractiveness was to interest another person. That interest would lead to intimacy, whether it was sex, friendship or a relationship. Elena knew none of those things applied to her; she had no intention of having sex, a relationship or a meaningful friendship. Ergo, beauty would be wasted on her. _

_Ben was incredibly handsome though. His chocolate hair was perfectly styled with it slightly shaved around the back and sides and on top there was a mass of silken strands and a sweeping fringe. Elena envied his hair styling skills and whoever the hell managed to cut his hair into perfection. His eyes were grey and framed with thick, dark lashes, Elena found them fascinating. When they caught the light, they sparkled and combining his hair, his eyes and his incredible physique… the man in front of her could've easily been a model. _

_A thought suddenly coming to mind, Elena asked, "What about Jennifer?"_

_Not catching on, Ben repeated, "What about Jennifer?"_

"_Have you asked her to be your date?" _

"_No- I was about to ask…" Ben sighed. He'd planned to ask Elena. The gorgeous, petite brunette had caught every man's eye when she'd walked into the open plan office on the 7__th__ floor. And then she'd spoken and he'd heard her smooth British accent... He wanted her; as simple as that. Ben knew that some other guys had asked her out and she'd turned them down with the same excuse but he'd hoped that he'd be able to change her mind. Elena was sweet and genuine though and she hadn't turned down anyone because she was holding out for someone else to ask her. She just wasn't going to the gathering and the fact that Elena hadn't even realised his intentions to ask her out just highlighted her humility and innocence._

_Following the brunette's line of sight as she quickly looked past him, he glanced over his shoulder and caught the icy glare that Jennifer was sending Elena. As soon as the blonde noticed him looking her way, her lips curved into a saccharine smile and her steely eyes softened._

_Amused, he turned back to look at Elena and raised an eyebrow at her, "What the hell did you do to Jen? I practically turned to stone then."_

_She let out a small laugh, then sighed and ran a hand through her hair, "I honestly don't know. Maybe I just have that effect on people."_

"_What effect?"_

"_Making them instantly hate me," she shrugged half-heartedly, not even bothering to analyse just how true that statement was._

"_Elena. Don't," Ben said firmly. "I've been around here for a while and trust me, it's not you." A few people began to filter into the board room and the pair returned to the kitchen. "She's probably just jealous," he said, realising that it wouldn't surprise him if she was. _

_A bottle of water now in hand, Elena looked at Ben with a confused expression, "Why would she be jealous? My job basically consists of being Tanner's slave…"_

"_Seriously?" Ben questioned, unsure if Elena was just fishing for a compliment. She couldn't be that blind, could she? He searched her eyes for a moment, but only found puzzlement swirling in her chocolate orbs. The fact that she genuinely thought Jennifer's jealously was because of her job,_ _Ben found adorable. He was in complete awe of that fact that Elena didn't even realise that her beauty was in a whole other league to Jennifer's._

_Capturing her gaze, he said softly, "Look in the mirror, that's why."_

"That's why it gives me great pleasure to introduce you all to Elijah Michaelson."

The grey-haired man stepped down, clapping as the man who he'd introduced stepped up onto the stage.

Elena had been at the event for two and a half hours now, one of those hours filled with men and woman making speeches on the stage. She was sat at one of the large, circular tables with eleven other people who worked for The Boston Globe. The last hour had been mind-numbingly boring, but as soon as Elijah Michaelson spoke into the microphone, his voice caused Elena to be shaken from her day-dreaming. Looking at the stage, she immediately recognised the man who'd she met earlier.

After feeling claustrophobic in the closely gathered circles of people, Elena had escaped from the ballroom only to accidentally bump into a man. The vintage wine that'd he'd been drinking ended up blossoming into a burgundy stain on his crisp white shirt. The man had instantly lost his patience with Elena despite her attempts at an apology. In the end, Elena had lost her own temper with him, calling him out on his rudeness before she returned to the ballroom. Later on, when she'd taken another breather from the crowded gathering, she'd heard the man cursing and found him furiously scrubbing at his stained shirt over a marble sink in a bathroom.

Wordlessly, Elena had taken the shirt from his hands and cleaned it for him; ignoring his tanned and sculpted torso. After she'd dried it, she'd held it out for him and he'd taken it without even thanking her. Elena had rolled her eyes at the arrogant and obnoxious man, walking away from him while thinking that he was a bastard. Unfortunately, it'd turned out that she'd said the word aloud and the man had yelled after her. Elena had continued to walk away though and he hadn't been able to go after her due to his state of undress.

Now he was fully clothed with a perfect, white shirt on while stood on the stage, addressing the entire New York Times Company.

"Ben, who's that?" she whispered to him as he sat next to her on the large table.

Leaning slightly closer, he replied, "The new owner of The New York Times Company."

Elena's stomach dropped at Ben's words.

She was _so _fired.


	3. Ivy & Gold

___****__**A/N:**__ An update... about a century later..._**_  
_**

_____Sorry, I've literally been drowning in exam revision, coursework deadlines and personal problems so this story has been put on the back burner. I have a chapter now though :)_

_____Just to warn you, I've re-written the present part at the beginning of my last chapter, so you might want to quickly read that before you read this chapter otherwise the present part in this chapter won't make any sense._

_____Thank you to everyone whose favourited and/or reviewed this story. Every single review means so much and lets me know that someone actually likes what I've written... (which is rare)_

_____So thank you, and sorry for my over-kill of the word 'so'._

_____Hope you enjoy the chapter and I'm sorry that there are a lot of time jumps, but they needed to be made._

_____Please review!_

___**Disclaimer**__: This story is based on characters created by L.J. Smith, and the TV series created by Kevin Williamson and Julie Plec. No copyright infringement intended._

* * *

_'Stop and think it over, smiling, moving closer_

_ Oh, what a delicate time'_

* * *

Elena sat motionless on the small bed, leaning against the white wall behind her as she stared at the opposite wall that was just one and half metres away.

Her mask was on and every single wall that she'd ever built was up. Elena couldn't bring herself to drop her bullet-proof mask and walls because she knew that the moment she did, she'd drown. For just a few more minutes, Elena wanted to remain blissfully apathetic and de-sensitised.

Numbly, she turned her head up to look at the small security camera in the corner of the isolated prison cell.

Solitary confinement, pending her court date.

Elena wanted to laugh at the fact the justice system had put her in solitary confinement until her court date when she'd either be sentenced to life imprisonment or death.

Solitary confinement.

Her childhood had been full of it; her time in England had consisted of isolation and twisted psychological games. Elena had escaped England with the intention of leaving all of that behind. Yet three years later, she found herself back where she'd started.

Throwing her head back against the wall, she muttered, "Fucking irony."

* * *

"Pierce!" the sharp shout that originated from William Tanner's office echoed across the rest of the seventh floor.

Elena grimaced when she heard her name be called, exiting the reprographics room and heading towards Tanner's office. No-one else on the floor was given the same treatment of having their surname called and then being expected to jump and say 'how high?' instantly; it was degrading.

The heartbeat after that last thought occurred, Elena almost burst out laughing at her own ridiculousness. _Yeh, having my name called out is completely degrading in comparison to everything else I've done._

Unable to have full control over her own amusement, a smile slipped through the cracks and Elena ended up walking into her boss' office with a smile curving her lips.

"Don't know what you're so chipper about," her boss muttered dryly as she closed the door behind her. Looking up from his laptop, he scowled slightly at the young brunette.

"Mr Michaelson's requested your presence; didn't care to mention why. There's a car waiting for you outside, Pierce."

She nodded her acknowledgement at Tanner and then exited the office, walking towards the elevators. A frown marred her sweetheart-shaped face and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth as her thoughts raced. It had been over a week since the incident at The Autumn Formal and Elena had begun to think –to hope- that the new company owner had forgotten about the whole episode. Apparently, that wasn't the case.

When she reached the ground floor and exited through the doors of the building, Elena saw a sleek, expensive Bentley waiting outside.

The driver's door opened and an immaculately dressed man stepped out.

"Miss Pierce?" he questioned. When she nodded in reply, he gave her a polite smile and opened the back door of the silver Bentley for her.

"Oh," Elena murmured in surprise, stepping toward the car. "Thank you," she said to the kind man as she slipped into the car.

The fifteen minute drive was filled with silence and when the car came to a stop, Elena opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. After closing the door, she turned to see the driver looking at her with a baffled expression on his face.

"Sorry," Elena said earnestly. "I didn't realise you were going to open the door for me as well…"

"It's alright Miss Pierce, I've just never had anyone beat me to opening the door before," the man smiled again at her, tipping his hat at her. Elena laughed lightly and blushed in embarrassment.

"Well, thank you for picking me up, Mr-" she stopped, unable to finish her sentence.

"Harris. Lucas Harris, Miss," he supplied, surprised by her sweet thank-you.

"Thank you," she said, before asking, "Do you know what floor I need to go to, Mr Harris?"

"The top floor."

"Okay. Well, wish me luck," she said light-heartedly, smiling at the kind man once more before walking through the revolving doors of the huge, Manhattan Skyscraper.

* * *

After stepping into the elevator and pressing the number 58, Elena suddenly became anxious again.

Chewing her bottom lip in an attempt to vent her apprehension, Elena tapped her foot impatiently on the floor of the elevator. Her reaction to anyone with power was to instantly feel small and fearful and then become numb. Her annoyance at Elijah Michaelson when they first met overtook every other emotion and therefore she had never felt the reminder of how inconsequential she was. Now, however, she had no other emotions or thoughts to distract and her and the fear was slowly creeping up on her. She took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind; she couldn't let anyone see her like this; see her be _weak. _She'd learned a long, long time ago that as soon as someone saw a weakness, they preyed on it.

The elevator doors slid open and Elena instantly became calm and collected.

Met with the sight of an auburn-haired woman sat behind a modern glass desk, Elena walked toward her. The woman appeared to be in her mid-thirties and with sleek, black glasses on and her hair pulled to the nape of neck in a chic bun; she was the epitome of the 'sexy librarian/secretary' stereotype. The lady was on the phone and upon seeing Elena, nodded at her and gestured toward the looming twin glass doors that were to the right of her desk.

Elena mouthed a 'thank you' at the lady and walked through the glass doors, only to be met with a corridor that had glass walls. To the right was a huge boardroom with an expansive, mahogany table that almost stretched for the entire length of the room. To the left, was what Elena assumed was Elijah Michaelson's office due to the fact that she could see the man himself through the glass. At the end of the corridor were two doors and Elena knocked firmly on the left one; the door to the man's office.

"Come in."

Pushing open the door, Elena didn't bother to absorb her new surroundings and simply stood in front of the office door after she closed it.

"Take a seat," he said, his deep, smooth voice distracted as he typed away on the laptop on his large, imposing desk.

Elena acquiesced and sat on the edge of one of the leather sofas that was part of a three-piece suite.

As she sat there waiting, she decided to look around. The entire office exuded sophistication; the colours were warm browns and deep, rich reds but the size and placing meant everything looked refined and elegant. Television screens filled with the latest stock exchange information and different projection charts lined the back wall of the office. The vast office dwarfed Elena's petite frame and she was made to feel even smaller as Elijah Michaelson continued to ignore her. Elena briefly wondered if the man at the desk was attempting some sort of power-play to intimidate her before firing her, but dismissed the notion with the hope that the man wouldn't sink that low.

As soon as the long hand on her watch indicated that she'd been waiting for fifteen minutes, she stood up with the intention of leaving. Just before her hand reached the door handle, Michaelson spoke.

"And where might you be going?"

Clenching her jaw in annoyance, she replied coolly, "To pack my things back at the office and leave rather than waiting another ten minutes for you to tell me to do the exact same thing."

He chuckled, only serving to infuriate Elena more. He had no idea how hard she'd work for the last four years just to be standing in the same city as him; he was about to take that away the job that funded that and he was _laughing_? Elena shook her head, pulling open the door and walking away from the chuckling bastard for the third time in one week.

Her anger dissipated as she walked down the corridor; her qualifications that she'd worked her ass off for were highly accredited, she'd be able to find another job… eventually. She was about to pull open one of the glass doors on the other end of the corridor when she heard him yell, "Damn it Miss Pierce, wait!"

Pivoting on her heel, Elena turned to see Michaelson striding across the corridor towards her.

There was a tick in his jaw as he came to a halt a metre away from her, his tall frame towering over her own.

"I'm not firing you!" He exclaimed in frustration, his deep brown eyes flashing with momentary anger.

"But-" Elena began, perplexed.

"I called you to my office for an entirely different reason, but you keep walking away from me, you infuriating woman!"

Elena's eyes widened fractionally at his outburst, but she remained aloof as she said evenly, "First of all, you have no right to refer to me as a 'woman' after sneering at me and calling me a 'girl' last weekend. Secondly, _I'm _the infuriating one? I came to your office, ready to be fired because of my previous behaviour towards you and you attempted some sick sort of intimidation game, Mr Michaelson. I tried to maintain what was left of my dignity by leaving quietly and when I told you what I was doing, you _laughed. _"

The man in front of her showed that he possessed some semblance of a heart when his eyes softened and he said, "The way I've treated you on both occasions has been unacceptable. I should have handled myself differently."

He took a breath and continued in his smooth, deep British accent, "I have a job proposition for you, Miss Pierce. That is, if you're willing to listen."

* * *

_Effective immediately…_

Elena shook her head in disbelief of what had just happened. She was still slightly dazed as she walked out of the elevator and began to weave through the huge open-plan office area to her tiny cubicle that was in the very back corner.

She was moving into her own office now...

Her footsteps slowing down as she approached her cubicle, her small flicker of joy faded. Elena smiled ruefully as she stood by her empty desk; she had nothing to pack away. A small bag which contained her phone, keys, a compact and some money was all she had to bring to work. Everyone else's desks were colourful and brought their home to work. There were framed pictures of friends and family, cute pencil holders made by younger family members or their children, crazy-coloured staplers that they were given for their birthday and personalised desk calendars containing holiday photographs.

Elena had nothing to be sentimental about; she could count the number of memories she truly cherished on one hand. She had nothing from home that she could bring to work; she had nothing at home that she'd want to be reminded of. Elena didn't have any photographs of a surprise party her friends had thrown her or a photograph of her with her boyfriend decorating a Christmas tree together; those sorts of things had never existed for Elena. The empty desk was just a cold, hard reminder of the fact that she had no connections or emotional attachments to anything or anyone except her brother.

And if he found out the truth he'd sever that attachment in one quick, cruel swipe. Not that it would matter as the chances of her ever seeing Jeremy again were practically non-existent…

Elena swallowed the lump that had begun to form in her throat and pushed all of the unbidden thoughts away. The sudden reminder of how utterly alone she was had been a swift blow to her chest, but she needed to focus.

She'd just gotten a new job, with better assignments and a bigger pay check.

_Positive _thoughts.

It was twelve o'clock, so Bekki and Ben were on their lunch break and weren't in the building. Knowing that she had to leave now, Elena made a mental note to call both of them. The only other person she had to say goodbye to was her boss. Elena knew that Mr Michaelson was at the very top of the pecking order when it came to The New York Times Company so Tanner wouldn't be able to do anything about the fact that she was leaving; telling him that she was leaving was simply a formality.

Picking up her small handbag, Elena navigated her way through the desks to Tanner's office. She knocked once and then walked in, much to Tanner's annoyance.

"I didn't say 'come in'," he reprimanded her, keeping his eyes on whatever paper he was reading through.

"Sorry. I just wanted to tell that I'm leaving as-"

"What?" Tanner's head shot up, pale brown eyes narrowed in incredulity.

"Mr Michaelson offered me the job of being his personal assistant." "Are you fucking him?" he asked bluntly, anger evident in his sharp tone.

Taken aback by his crudeness, Elena shot the vulgar and offensive man a glare as she left his office. Purely because she could, Elena left the door open on her way out, making sure it stuck so it wouldn't close again. It was one of Tanner's pet hates and because the door wouldn't close by itself, the man would be forced to actually leave his desk for once.

Her mood significantly brightening when she heard Tanner curse over the door, Elena left The Boston Globe Newspaper.

* * *

One month later and Elena was sat in the back of a chauffeur driven Bentley with a beautiful floral arrangement flowers placed next to her on the lush, leather seat; Michaelson had specifically asked for Elena to deliver the flowers. This was the beginning of her third month in New York and sat in the expensive car, she was watching the city crawl by through a black, tinted window.

This was her new life: version 2.0.

Being Elijah Michaelson's personal assistant was a busy, but incredibly rewarding job. She'd seen more of New York in her first week of being Michaelson's PA than she had since she'd arrived. It had been one month since she'd accepted his generous job offer and the pair had fallen into a comfortable routine.

When offering her the job, Michaelson had tiptoed around an apology which amused Elena to no end; the man's pride had prevented him from saying the words 'I'm sorry'. Elena knew he was apologising to her in his own way and somehow she knew an apology from him in any form was a rare thing. Since then, Elena had started fresh with her new boss and they had become amicable towards each other.

Elena's job consisted of running errands and organising his life and she'd quickly discovered that she was more than capable of the latter task. Apparently, Michaelson thought the same as he was yet to express any complaints about her work.

Her new job had a salary that was more than triple her old, tiny one and because of that her disposable income had increased. Elena hadn't changed any other aspect of her life so she was simply saving more money; she was planning on finally buying a motorbike and a garage to store it in.

The Bentley pulled up outside of a modern, high-rise building and Elena realised that the women who the flowers were for –Lizzie Rowe- worked in one of Salvatore Inc.'s skyscrapers. The skyscrapers were not only famous due to their notorious owner, but for their gorgeous and contemporary interiors.

As soon as Elena entered the foyer through the revolving glass doors, she understood what all the hype was about. In the centre of the foyer was a glass elevator which was encased within a rectangular prism of glass and steel. It looked like something out of the future and Elena felt a small frisson of excitement reverberate through her. She waited for the elevator with the flower arrangement in her hands, distractedly noticing a cream coloured note within the flowers that had 'Mrs Rowe' hand-written on it.

The elevator arrived, drawing Elena's attention back to the incredible glass machinery. Elena tried to fight the smile on her lips as she pressed the '12' that was lasered onto a glass panel and the whole elevator glowed with an icy-blue aura. She failed when a smile curved her lips; she knew that she probably looked like an unintelligible idiot and was just thankful that no-one else was in the elevator.

Unfortunately, ten seconds later the innovative, glass door silently slid up and a gorgeous man stepped into the glowing glass box and pressed the highest number on the panel.

Dressed in a flawlessly tailored, charcoal, three-piece suit, the man with the perfect smirk exuded money, power and sex; three things Elena preferred to keep at arm's length.

Rather than looking at the man who lived in completely different world to her, she turned her head away from him. Due to the transparency of the glowing glass walls, she could watch the floors of the skyscraper blur by in a haze of blue. It looked amazing and Elena didn't realise that she was once again smiling at the unusual sight.

The elevator stopped fifteen seconds later, causing Elena to look forward and move out of the way so that two people could stand at the back of the elevator. As she moved, her eyes flickered to the man that stood next to her and she realised that he'd been watching her. His amused smirk spoke volumes and Elena looked away, blushing in embarrassment.

The door slid down and the elevator began to move.

For the remainder of the elevator ride, Elena was all too aware of the man next her still smirking and she felt mortified that she'd been smiling like an idiot because of a glowing elevator. Fortunately, the modern door slid up, opening on the 12th floor and Elena walked out and never looked back.

* * *

On the top floor of another New York skyscraper, Elena waited for an elevator. She'd been working as a personal assistant for two months now and her life revolved around elevators, coffee and Elijah Michaelson.

Her heels clicked on the wooden floor of the elevator as she went to press the 'ground floor' button before stepping back so that there was more space in the carriage for others. The doors began to slide shut, but a hand pushed on one and they re-opened.

Stepping over the threshold of the lift, his eyes locked onto Elena's and flashed with recognition.

"Elevator girl…" he drawled, taking another step forward with a smirk languidly curving his lips.

Elena was slightly taken aback at the fact that the man remembered her from almost a month ago. However, she didn't offer any form of reply purely because she had nothing to say.

He remained standing in front of her though, invading her personal space as he captured her gaze.

The elevator began to move and Elena's breath hitched as their eyes stayed locked and his intoxicating, masculine scent enveloped her.

His eyes were a beautiful shade of blue; however they were empty and cold. She broke the eye contact, slowly scanning over his face with her own chocolate orbs. Tension grew in the air that surrounded them as she found herself searching his face for something tangible and something true. He stood there, motionless as he allowed her to search his impassive but striking features. She could feel his eyes trace her own face and the entire moment was intense and intimate.

Elena's eyes finally met his again and something flickered in their icy depths, fleeting. The pair remained silent and before any words could be said, the elevator opened on the ground floor and the moment shattered.

Reality crashed down upon Elena and she quickly walked around the man and out into the foyer. And once again, she never looked back.

Passing through the revolving doors, Elena exited onto the edge of a bustling side-walk of New York City. It was the 22nd of December and the air was crisp and the wind was biting, clearing Elena's clouded mind. _What just happened…_ she thought, confused at her own behaviour. Wanting to put as much distance between herself and the mystery man, she tightened her coat around her petite frame and joined the moving throng of New Yorkers. Michaelson's chauffeur, George, was meeting her one block away to drive her back to her office.

A second after she'd joined the crowd, a hand on the crook of her elbow was pulling her out of it. She whirled around, unsure of who had pulled her back to the edge of the side walk.

Her body had instantly tensed, but the tension was replaced with bemusement when icy eyes locked onto hers.

"I never caught your name," he said, his large hand still softly cradling her elbow.

Gently shrugging his hand off, Elena replied truthfully, "That's because you'll never need it."

A flash of surprise crossed his chiselled features at her unexpected reply. Without giving him a chance to say anything else, Elena walked away from the anonymous and enigmatic man for the second time that day.

The raven-haired man stood still as he watched the brunette cross the street and disappear from sight. Feeling a blend of surprise and attraction, he vowed to find out who she was.

The occurrence in the elevator had left him reeling. Her molten chocolate eyes had traced his face as if searching for something. People had examined his face before; trying to see if he was lying, telling the truth or trying to decipher his emotions. Each time that had happened, he either felt pressured or annoyed that someone was trying to read him. He hadn't felt pressured or defensive by her inquisitive gaze though and those twenty, silent seconds had felt… _intimate. _

He hadn't felt that close to someone in a very long time. He held everyone at arm's length and anyone who tried to get close to him, failed. When it came to women, he enjoyed their company, but never kept them around long enough to form any sort of relationship. Yet in that moment with the stunning, young woman, he'd felt a pull towards her and he'd found himself longing to simply kiss her. Although as soon as the elevator had come to a stop, she'd walked past him and disappeared through the revolving doors of the foyer.

He never ran after someone; if they walked away from him that was their loss. Yet he found himself outside of the building in ten seconds flat, pulling her out of the throng of New Yorkers before she vanished again.

When he'd asked for her name, he'd been taken aback by what he'd heard in reply.

'_That's because you'll never need it.' _

The words had been softly spoken in a smooth British lilt; he wasn't sure what had surprised him more, her accent or her words. He'd lost count of how many women had played hard to get, pretending to be coy when they rejected the first advance that he'd make. In the end, he'd seduced every one of them as they'd dropped their 'hard to get' act very quickly. The brunette's words hadn't been spoken in a coquettish way; they'd been said truthfully and without a hint of emotion.

Intrigued, he slid his smartphone out of one of his inside jacket pockets and pressed speed dial.

"Mark, find out who I just shared an elevator ride with."

* * *

Elena awoke with a gasp, the images of her nightmare refusing to fade away despite her consciousness. Jumping out of bed, she ran into the bathroom to throw some cold water on her face in an attempt to wash away the horrifying remnants of her nightmares; of her memories.

A shiver ran through her as her hand touched the cold, metal tap, reminding her of her lack of clothing. Dressed in only an oversized tee and underwear, the cool temperature was causing her light, olive skin to erupt in goose bumps.

Pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a thick jumper, she padded barefoot out of her bedroom. Met with the empty, dingy, main room of the flat, she began to make a cup of coffee while ignoring the deafening silence. Chris had disappeared one week ago, leaving Elena completely alone for the holiday.

Once she'd poured her coffee and picked up her mug, Elena sat down on the small, grey, fabric couch.

It was Christmas Day. The only indication of it being Christmas at all was a single greetings card from Ben that Elena had in her bedroom.

Her gaze wandering to the cracked, glass coffee table, Elena desperately tried to feel some semblance of joy. At almost twenty-one years old, she'd achieved everything that she'd ever wanted; everything that she'd carefully planned from the young age of eleven. The pathetic truth of it all though was that Elena would trade all of it in a heartbeat if it meant that she had _someone _to spend Christmas with.

Tears threatened to fall as she sat in the flat, completely and utterly alone in the world and in a different continent to her one connection to humanity; her brother. Elena pushed her self-pity away though and tried to be rational; she'd never spent a Christmas with anyone before, so she didn't actually know what she was missing. Swallowing another mouthful of scalding, hot coffee, she murmured, "Merry Christmas Jer."

"_Merry Christmas Jer," Elena whispered, wincing in pain as she coughed; broken ribs and the flu were not a good combination to put it lightly. _

_Ty had left the night before to stay at one of his work friend's house for Christmas, leaving Elena to wake up to an empty room on Christmas Day. Turning her head, she looked at the small Christmas card and the present wrapped in newspaper on the shared, plastic bedside table._

_Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and then slowly manoeuvred herself off of the bed. An intense pain radiated from her chest, but the seventeen year-old gritted her teeth and slowly walked a few paces to the counter top and table that created the 'kitchen'. With only one electrical socket in the entire room that created their 'apartment', Elena and Ty had to alternate between plugging in their phone chargers and their faulty kettle. Filling the kettle with water from the leaky faucet, Elena flicked on the kettle and the water began to boil. _

_After making the watery coffee, Elena walked back to her bed and gently sat down. Shuffling to the back of the bed, she sat against the cold, damp wall; it provided enough support for her sit up on her own despite her injuries. _

_The tiny bedside table next to her bed separated her bed from Ty's. His bed was empty, the single white sheet thrown over the lumpy mattress. Elena briefly wondered what Ty was doing at that moment, guessing that he was probably fast asleep but would wake up to a big, freshly-cooked breakfast. _

_Her stomach growled loudly at the thought of food, but she ignored the hunger pangs. There was one apple on the plastic kitchen table which Elena was planning to eat around midday. When she could manage to walk down the ten floors' worth of cast iron stairs, she'd be able to buy some food; a loaf of bread usually lasted her a long time. For now though, she had to make do with the apple and then maybe miss out on some food for a few days. _

_Shivers racked her small frame, in turn causing her to gasp aloud in agony as her broken bones grazed each other. Pulling the sheet around her, Elena then grabbed her coffee and held it tightly between her hands. The warmth permeated her hands; a welcomed feeling. There was no heating and the one small window in the room was broken which allowed a chilling breeze to enter the room. _

_Picking up the card, Elena read the message that Ty had left for her. _

Elena,

Take care of yourself.

Enjoy the present.

Ty

_Placing the small, stained white card on the bedside table, Elena picked up her present. Pulling the newspaper off, tears of gratefulness filled her eyes when she saw what Ty had given her: an extra-large, thick, fleece-lined, grey university hoody. She'd often seen him wear it, jealous of the warmth that it provided him with. Elena practically sobbed with relief as she gently pulled the hoody over her head. If she stopped shivering and began to warm up, the pain in her chest might become more bearable._

_Clutching her waist as another sharp pang of hunger shot through her, she looked up at the mouldy ceiling. Smiling at the present that Ty had given her, she whispered, "Thank you."_

"Thank you, Miss Pierce," Michaelson said as she handed him his coffee order. Selecting the '27' button, the doors to the elevator slid shut and a soft whirring sound filled the tiny room.

"How was your Christmas?" He asked. He'd offered Elena a long Christmas break of up to two weeks; after working so hard for him she deserved at least that. Elijah had been taken aback though when she'd politely declined his offer, only taking off Christmas Day. His personal assistant confounded him; she was young and beautiful and he'd expected her to jump at the chance of having two weeks to live her life without work.

In contrast, he'd jetted off to the Caribbean with his three-year old daughter in tow. For two weeks he'd relaxed, soaked up the sun and enjoyed the time he got to spend with his daughter.

It was his first day back at work, whereas Elena had been working yesterday on Boxing Day too.

"It was good, thank you," Elena replied, purposefully being vague; her pathetic Christmas had consisted of drinking coffee, jogging and doing the laundry which was a stark contrast to her boss' colourful winter break.

Before she'd become his assistant, she'd only thought that Mr Michaelson owned The New York Times Company. Now she knew that he'd invested in many different companies and had large shares in multi-billion dollar corporations; an explanation as to why her boss could fly in his own private jet to a Caribbean island.

"Holidaying suits you," she observed with a soft smile, taking in her boss' relaxed expression and sun-kissed skin.

"Spending time with Bella does," he elaborated, his features lighting up as he mentioned his daughter Isabella.

Arriving at their floor, they both walked out together and head towards his office. As he sat down on his plush, chestnut-coloured, leather office chair, Elena walked over to one of the large, old-fashioned filing cabinets in the expansive office. Fishing out two manila folders, she placed them on the desk in front of Michaelson.

"The blue one contains your work schedule for the next three months. All the information you need for every meeting that has been organised so far is in there. There's also a list of potential meetings including who would be attending and why. The white one is for everything non-work related."

Michaelson shot her a slightly perplexed look and Elena suddenly became very worried of what his reaction might be.

"While you were away, I took the liberty of going over the arrangements you've made regarding your daughter." Elena wanted to cringe at her detached words, talking about his little girl like she was a business transaction.

Speaking in a more normal way, Elena elaborated, "I know that she's staying with you for the next three months and your previous arrangements were fine… but I thought that I could change some so that you can spend more time with your daughter."

Wordlessly, Michaelson opened the white folder and went through all of the paperwork that Elena had put together.

Preschool dates, times, events… the fancy dress that Bella would need next month for the play that the preschool were doing… a library card, a list of recommended books to help and engage young children who were learning to read… a list of Bella's friends at the preschool; their birthdays, addresses, parents' names and numbers… a nanny that had been interviewed out of a list of fifty others… a spread sheet of potential dates that would clash with work and different options of how to work around it…

…A calendar that contained all the days where he could skip work and a list of places that he could take his daughter.

He sat there in shock. Over a year ago he and his wife had gone through a messy divorce and he was still struggling to adjust to seeing his daughter at three month intervals. Balancing his demanding job and a young child was difficult to say the least and he never managed to see his adorable toddler as much as he could, being forced to sacrifice his time with Bella for work and meetings. No-one had ever tried to help him with Bella, his previous PAs only helping him with his life at work and his friends and family assuming that he didn't need any help.

Organising everything so that his daughter was in safe hands while he worked was even more difficult. Yet now he had two files in front of him which meant that he could actually be a Dad for the next three months instead of a distant father.

"A thank you isn't enough, Miss Pierce," he said honestly.

"It is," Elena swiftly replied, relieved that he'd accepted her help.

"No," he insisted softly. "It really isn't."

* * *

"Mr Michaelson, what is this?" Elena asked, holding up the papers as she walked into his office one week later.

"It's my thank you."

"I can't accept any of this, thank you, but-"

"-but you're going to smile and accept it," he interjected with a ghost of a smirk.

Elena bit her tongue from refusing his gifts again, not wanting to upset her boss. After returning from her lunch break which she'd used to grab a coffee with Ben, she'd found two things on her desk.

An article that she'd been requested to write, with a whole column's space in The New York Times newspaper.

A formal invitation to accompany him to a prestigious gala which was held every other year for the rich and powerful of New York.

"Miss Pierce," he began smoothly, standing up from his desk and walking over to her. "This is the least I can do after what you did for me. I've seen your credentials and the example piece you wrote for your job application here; you have a talent and it is currently being wasted by being my assistant."

Pointing at the paper that she was holding, he said, "I've talked with the editor. If your article is a success, he'll give you a monthly column to write… that is, if you're willing to potentially take on another job."

"I am," Elena said without hesitation. Writing was her passion and she was going to work as hard as possible for the opportunity to work for _The _New York Times newspaper.

_It'll be worth it just to see the look on Tanner's face; _she smiled at the thought of the editor of The Boston Globe's reaction. It took at least a year to work your way up from bottom rung of the journalism ladder to writing your own, tiny article, let alone getting your own monthly column; if she could pull it off, it'd be her way of proving herself a worthy journalist.

"And what about my invitation?" Michaelson asked, his confident air momentarily fading.

"It's an incredible opportunity, but I can't, I'm sorry."

"What's stopping you?"

Flushing with discomfiture, Elena told him truthfully, "I won't fit in at all. Every woman there will be graceful and beautiful. There'll be styled to perfection and well I… I don't even have a dress. I'll only embarrass you."

Understanding crossed his features as he looked at the beautiful brunette who was as compassionate as she was self-doubting.

"I never expected you to organise anything, all you need to do is say yes. Everything's organised, Miss Pierce; your dress, your hair… manipedis." He shook his head as a smile curved his lips, "everything that you women need to look ready to go to a ball."

"Mr Michaelson…"

"Just say yes," he implored.

As his eyes captured hers, Elena saw a spark of emotion in their depths, but it was fleeting and undecipherable. Anxious at the prospect of attending such an elitist event and now confused by her boss' rare display of raw emotion, Elena remained silent for a moment longer.

"Yes," she breathed out as uncertainty caused her answer to sound more like a question.

"Yes?" Mr Michaelson repeated, his warm, chestnut eyes searching hers.

Seeing the emotion in his eyes flicker back to life for another transient moment, Elena realised why she hadn't recognised it before; she'd only witnessed that display of emotion a handful of times.

It was _hope. _

A smile lighting up her features, Elena repeated more firmly, "Yes."

_I'm going to a ball..._


	4. Ready For The Floor

_**A/N:** This chapter has been my favourite to write so far, but honestly I haven't reached a place in the story yet where I can really write what I want to. So I hope you like this chapter; the flashbacks are based on my own childhood, so parts of this chapter are close to me._

_Thank you so much for the reviews and the favourites- the response I've had has been amazing and unexpected! (Thank you to Jo, Lou, S and the guest who have reviewed but I can't PM back to say thanks!) _

_Please keep reviewing and letting me know what you think, it keeps me motivated! _

_By the way, Nina Dobrev at the 63rd Annual Primetime Emmy Awards is what Elena looks like at the ball..._

___**Disclaimer**__: This story is based on characters created by L.J. Smith, and the TV series created by Kevin Williamson and Julie Plec. No copyright infringement intended._

* * *

_'I'm hoping with chance, you might take this dance'_

* * *

Time.

It was a foreign concept to Elena now. She didn't know what time it was or what day it was or how long she'd been within the same four, white walls. Elena had remained motionless and numb since she'd been placed in the small, empty cell. Food had been brought to her, but she hadn't eaten it. The agent who'd interrogated her had visited her once, but she'd ignored him and remained stoic and unseeing as he spoke words she didn't bother to listen to.

Her whole life had been one bad thing after another, sometimes a few bad things together. Elena had survived all of that, but _this..._

_This,_ was _everything_ all at once.

Elena was certain that if she even moved, every wall that she'd carefully constructed around her would shatter; every emotion, every memory and every ounce of pain to do with what had happened, she'd pushed behind her walls. Once she let her guard down, they'd be released in one single, devastating moment.

And Elena didn't know if she could survive that.

* * *

"If I trip, I'm really sorry," Elena apologised in advance as the pair approached an intimidating, marbled staircase that led to the ballroom where some of America's richest and most famous people were currently circulating.

"Miss Pierce, you're not going to trip. If you're walk is half as elegant as how you look tonight, you won't trip." He enunciated the last three words slowly to emphasise his point. Elena nodded, trying to take on board his words of encouragement while blushing at the small compliment that he gave her.

Mr Michaelson had hired a personal stylist for Elena to help her get ready; he'd spoiled her. Elena had been sent to the spa this morning to be waxed, have her nails done and be pampered. In the afternoon, Elena had been taken to meet the personal stylist called Caroline. The woman was in her mid twenties and resembled Barbie with her golden hair and big blue eyes. Although Elena had been slightly overwhelmed by her exuberance, she'd quickly warmed to Caroline and the pair had ended up swapping numbers with the promise of meeting up.

Caroline had obviously enjoyed using Elena as her own personal dress-up doll when making the brunette try on twenty different designer dresses; eventually choosing a Donna Karan dress. The gorgeous blonde personal stylist had done her job after managing to make Elena look presentable enough for something as elite as the gala. The gorgeous, fitting red dress skimmed over every curve on Elena's body, accentuating her amazing physique. Flowing to the ground, Elena had, had to practice walking in it before the gala until Caroline was happy with her graceful walk. Then the woman had perfected Elena's curled hair; glistening chocolate silk cascaded down one side of her shoulder, contrasting with the blood red dress. The smoky eye make-up enhanced Elena's doe eyes, making them seem even more expressive. When everything was done and Elena had seen her reflection in the mirror, she'd barely recognised herself.

"How late are we?" Elena mused aloud, becoming increasingly nervous by the amount of people who were in the room below her. However, 'room' was a very loose term considering the sheer size of it.

"We're late by an hour, but they knew that we would be," he answered her question, his calm demeanour emanating sophistication. A sudden meeting three days ago had meant that Mr Michaelson had been forced to fly out to Japan; as soon as his jet plane had landed back at JFK, he'd picked Elena up from the styling studio in his limousine and they'd been driven to the gala.

Soft classical music was being played by the small orchestra on the ballroom floor, but it ceased when they stopped next to a suit-clad man at the top of the stairs and Elena became confused. The confusion quickly morphed into anxiety when the man's next words echoed through the entire room, causing every millionaire and billionaire to turn their head and look up at the top of the staircase; their eyes landing on Elena and Elijah.

"Ladies and Gentleman, Mr Elijah Michaelson… accompanied by Miss Elena Pierce."

Elena gripped Mr Michaelson's arm a bit tighter in anxiety and he gave a her a soft, comforting smile before taking a step forward. As she began to descend the stairs on the arm of her boss she knew that their relationship had shifted. Elijah Michaelson was smart, compassionate and thoughtful and those qualities made him a rare and desirable man. He was also powerful, incredibly handsome and wealthy and although those attributes meant very little to Elena, they only added to his desirability in the eyes of other women. So the man who could have taken any other woman that he wanted with him to the gala, had chosen _her_. That fact confounded Elena and it also confirmed that their relationship had definitely changed into something more than just a work arrangement; what it had changed into though, was a mystery to Elena.

Reaching the bottom of the vast marble, swirling staircase, the orchestra began to play again and Elena relaxed slightly. Looking at the musicians, she noticed the glistening, polished brass instruments that were lined up at the very back of the stage and she couldn't hold back her smile.

Her voice was only a whisper as she murmured, "Wow…"

"_Wow!" the four year old exclaimed, jumping up from her seated position on the alphabet rug._

_In a flash, she was stood beside the woman, staring at the black wheel that was spinning in front of her and somehow creating an incredible noise. "What is it?" she asked, her eyes shining with interest and wonder._

"_This, is a record player my dear," the lady replied, her calm voice full of warmth. Lifting one hand, she pointed at the whirring black wheel that the four year old was so fascinated by, "And that, is a vinyl record. I know that you have CDs, but in my day and age, we had vinyl records."_

"_Vinyl records are much cooler than CDs," she said, her young voice full of conviction. _

_The lady chuckled, amused at the young girl's observation, "I would have to agree with you." Turning back to the box of records that she'd found in a nook of her house, she began to carefully rifle through it._

"_Mrs Flowers?" the child said, regaining the older woman's attention. "What is this?" she questioned. Her dark, doe eyes were round and wide with curiosity, making her delicate features look even more angelic._

"_This is jazz music, Elena," the woman smiled. "Do you like it?"_

_A grin lighting up her entire face, she whispered, "Yes."_

_Yes…_ Elena thought as excitement flooded her veins when she saw the brass instruments be picked up by various band members. _They are going to play jazz music…_

Large, chocolate eyes sparkled in wonder and exultation as a handful of musicians took to the wonderfully set-up stage and the soft, melodious sounds of jazz began to fill the vast and lavish grand ball room. A beautifully-dressed black woman began to quietly croon soulful lyrics into a microphone and the music sent shivers running through Elena.

"Well, what do you think Miss Pierce?" Owen Saunders asked.

Being brought back to reality by the question, Elena flushed with embarrassment when she realised that she had no idea what the current topic of conversation was. She'd been at the gala for half an hour and she was currently stood in a group of five incredibly well-known, brilliantly intelligent men (one of whom she worked for); and she'd been distracted by the live music.

Whilst mentally reprimanding herself, Elena apologised to the silver-haired telecommunications giant, "I am so sorry, Mr Saunders. I've never heard a jazz band play live before and I completely lost track of the conversation."

"You like jazz music, Miss Pierce?" Another man -Hayden Parker- asked with an intrigued look on his face.

"Yes, ever since I first heard a Thelonious Monk record when I was four," she explained, the memory warming her heart.

"I saw him play in the 60s with Miles Davis," Saunders said, a smile on his face.

Elena's doe eyes lit up at the man's admission, "My gosh, that's an incredible thing to have seen."

"You're making me feel old, Miss Pierce," he chuckled, despite the fact that he'd barely been a teenager when he had seen Thelonious Monk play.

"You don't look a day past fifty, Mr Saunders," Elena said truthfully, her red lips curved into a smile.

"Now why don't I ever get compliments like that?" Michaelson laughed, the amber liquid in his glass having the positive effect of relaxing him.

"Have you ever seen some of the greatest jazz artists play, Mr Michaelson?" Elena replied light-heartedly, enjoying the men's company and the interesting dialogues.

"Touché Miss Pierce," he acknowledged with a wry smile.

"We were just discussing hiring green employees," Nathan Cox said, bringing Elena back up to speed.

Elena still couldn't believe that it wasn't a dream, casually having a conversation with _Nathan Cox. _The man in front of her was a self-made billionaire in the mining and oil industry. With two PhDs, he'd discovered the oil reserves himself with a small team before gathering investments and drilling for it; the man was inspirational.

"Where did you matriculate from, Miss Pierce?" he asked.

"Oxford University, Mr Cox," she replied, grateful that she'd managed to earn a place at the prestigious university.

With the exception of Michaelson who already knew, the four other men who she stood with all looked slightly impressed at her answer and for a fleeting moment, Elena felt proud of herself.

"Impressive hire, Elijah," Thomas Leroy said.

Thomas Leroy was Owen Saunders' business partner and the older man was merciless when it came to making money. Although in his mid-fifties, he was ten years younger than his partner. Leroy had started working for Saunders and eventually worked his way up to the top. Thomas Leroy evoked fear in other businessman with his cut-throat attitude and his powerful presence. Saunders acted like a balm to Leroy's cruel way of business and together they had the good cop/bad cop routine down to a tee. Under certain circumstances, Saunders could be just as ruthless as his partner and on very rare occasions, Leroy could show his softer side. The astute men complimented each other well and together, made billions of dollars.

"A lucky hire, Mr Leroy," Mr Michaelson corrected in a light tone.

The conversation diverged and Elena kept up with the it and spoke when she was spoken to. Every now and then though, her gaze drifted to all couples that were dancing so beautifully in front of the multitude of musicians on the stage.

A knowing look on his face, Mr Leroy said quietly, "It's romantic isn't it?"

Surprised by the salt-and-pepper-haired man's question, Elena looked up at the wiser, older man, "Yes." She paused, briefly remembering the dreamy bubble of princes and love that she'd once lived in when she used to read countless fairy-tales; a bubble that was burst very quickly. "Yes, it's very romantic," she admitted, her heart clenching as she realised that the only notion of romance that she possessed was from the books that she'd read as a small child. Watching the gorgeously-dressed women be led in an intimate, sophisticated dance by their partners was the first time Elena had ever witnessed romance before.

"Have you ever danced before, Miss Pierce?" he asked, removing himself from the other men's conversation and keeping his voice quiet.

"No, I haven't Mr Leroy," Elena whispered back truthfully, once again embarrassed by her complete lack of experience when it came to these sorts of events.

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled at her and Elena knew that his twinkling, dark green eyes had seen more of the world than she could ever dream of.

"I'm sure any man in this building would be honoured to dance with you, Miss Pierce," he said kindly, startling Elena with his uncharacteristic behaviour.

Elena bit her lip for a moment, before saying, "I very much doubt that, Mr Leroy. And even if I had a partner, I wouldn't be able to." She dropped her gaze for a second, ashamed as she murmured. "I can't dance."

"Before my wife, I never knew how to dance either," he said, his face lighting up as he mentioned his wife. "I'll let you in on a secret," he whispered conspiratorially. "I had to have three months of dance classes before my wedding day just so I didn't make a fool of myself. I managed to cure my two left feet eventually," he winked at her, his kind anecdote warming her heart.

Elena laughed softly, a large smile brightening her features and Mr Leroy laughed along with her.

"Would you care for a dance, Miss Pierce? Your first lesson, if you will," he asked.

"As long as you don't hold me accountable for any injuries I may cause, Mr Leroy," Elena replied with an arch of an eyebrow.

He answered by offering her the crook of his arm and as she looped her arm through his, he said, "Now if you'll excuse myself and Miss Pierce, gentlemen."

Elena smiled at the men and dipped her head in a silent goodbye. Then she was led onto the dance floor by Mr Leroy.

He started off slowly, gently leading her in a simple dance. Gradually he added in more steps while coaching Elena through each added movement. Within a few minutes, the pair were moving gracefully and in time to the beautiful, melodious jazz music.

Leroy was a confident and fluid dancer; an aura of sophistication and worldliness surrounding him as he held Elena.

"You're doing well, Miss Pierce," he smiled encouragingly as she followed his every movement.

"You're a good teacher, Mr Leroy," she replied with a smile of her own. She felt safe in his arms; for a fleeting moment, he felt like a father figure as he taught her to dance to the music that was so intrinsically linked with her childhood.

"Take some of the credit, Miss Pierce," he said lightly, twirling her.

Elena laughed as he brought her back into his arms, enjoying her first dance.

"You should dance with your wife next, Mr Leroy," she said, not wanting to keep him from dancing with his wife.

His demeanour shifted almost imperceptibly at her words, but Elena noticed the change and instantly regretted her words.

"I'm afraid I won't have that chance; I haven't for twelve years now," he said, the vibrancy in his green eyes fading.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything at all," Elena apologised.

"You weren't to know, Miss Pierce." He took a deep breath, as if to dispel all the memories that Elena had unintentionally brought to the surface. "Now come on, tell me something about yourself."

* * *

Damon watched Elena Pierce twirl in the arms of Thomas Leroy, her crimson-red dress flowing around her feet as she danced. He'd found out her name. He could've found out so much more, but he'd chosen not to; he wanted to learn about her by talking with her himself.

Watching her with Thomas -both of them smiling and laughing- surprised him; he'd known Thomas for a long time and he could count the number of times he'd seen him laugh on one hand, yet with Miss Pierce, he couldn't seem to stop. The young woman from the elevator was an enigma and Damon couldn't stop thinking about her.

* * *

"He did not…" One of the young women said in disbelief.

"Oh he did," another one said. "Men these days!" she exclaimed and let out a tinkling laugh which the other women joined in with, although Elena feigned her laughter.

After the dance with Thomas Leroy Elena had somehow found herself in a group of women; some of them were socialites married to or dating the influential and incredibly wealthy men; others were influential and incredibly wealthy themselves. Elena knew that at twenty-one, she was the youngest woman at the event. The ages of the group that she was in ranged from around mid-twenties to late thirties and all of the women looked equally sophisticated and opulent.

Elena felt incredibly out-of-place. The women were gossiping about fashion and men and carried themselves with grace and ease; wearing flowing, designer dresses and jewellery that dripped with diamonds was normal to them. Elena felt like a fraud and a fake; she had to be dressed like a child by a hired lady because she didn't have the money or the knowledge to dress herself appropriately for a prestigious and exclusive event like this. Elena didn't gossip and she didn't have tales to tell of her time in Paris or Milan or some other place that she could only dream of visiting; every minute that she spent standing with the women only served to highlight the fact that she didn't belong here. She had to remain gracious and amiable though because Mr Michaelson had invited her and she couldn't let him down by losing her patience or cool.

"Excuse me ladies, but I'd like to steal my wife away for a dance now," a man said, a smile quirking his lips.

Elena felt like she was in an alternate universe as she watched one of the most renowned men in the fashion industry whisk his wife onto the ballroom floor.

"It's so sweet," Amber Riley, one of the younger women cooed, eyeing the couple.

"It is…" Gabriella Monroe agreed, her emerald green eyes shining. "Maybe I'll find my Prince Charming tonight," she said, making a show of looking around the vast ballroom floor and up at the surrounding balcony area on the second floor.

"Oh please, we all know that Prince Charming is already here," Natalie Reid declared with a wave of one perfectly-manicured hand.

Elena observed that every woman's face lit up when that sentence was spoken.

"And who might this Prince Charming be?" Elena inquired politely, completely out of the loop.

"Oh Elena… Britain has deprived you," Gabriella tsked with a shake of her head, her luxurious raven locks reflecting the light.

Elena smiled politely, controlling her slight annoyance at the woman's condescending tone. Gabriella Monroe was the heiress to her father's five billion dollar empire in the software industry and she was not shy about boasting that fact. Her appearance, her disposition and her treatment of people… it all screamed 'I have more money than you, therefore I'm better'.

"Damon Salvatore of course!" Someone said, enlightening Elena.

_Should've seen that coming, _Elena thought wryly; Damon Salvatore was America's most notorious and eligible bachelor. From what Elena had heard about the enigmatic and apparently irresistibly attractive billionaire, she'd deduced that he was a serial womaniser. That was the part that confounded Elena: Wasn't Prince Charming the one who you're supposed to go riding off into the sunset with, not have a one-night stand with?

"I'm so jealous Gabriella," one woman said. "If I wasn't married…" All the women giggled and laughed at the joke.

"What was it like, Gabriella?" another asked.

Smiling coyly as she looked around the group of women who were listening intently, Gabriella seemed to revel in the attention as she stage whispered, "Best lover I've ever had. There's a reason he's so damn cocky…"

Once again, all the women laughed. Elena faked yet another laugh, unused to the topics of conversation. It reminded her of a group of teenage girls, all trading stories of their first sexual experiences. Elena had never been one of those girls; she'd been the loner one at the back of the classroom, working her ass off and keeping to herself. Gossiping and staring at men was completely new to her.

"I'm going to make sure I dance with him tonight," Gabriella said, a sly smile on her rouge lips; a smile that betrayed the fact that she wanted more than just a dance.

Gabriella was by far the most beautiful woman in the room, with feline emerald eyes, a perfect body and thick, luscious waves of black, silky hair; Elena wasn't surprised that she'd bedded a man who all the other woman seemed to drool over.

"There are other princes in here though," Natalie said, bringing back the deadened metaphor.

"Mmm," a chorus of agreements sounded from within the group.

Once again suppressing the urge to roll her eyes at the women's actions, Elena absentmindedly glanced away from them.

About twenty feet away from her was Michaelson, who was socialising with a group of immaculately-dressed men, nursing a crystal tumbler of scotch. He looked away for a second and their gazes met. A small smile curved his lips and Elena mirrored his expression before breaking their eye contact.

"Elijah Michaelson's rather delicious," Amber said lowly, having followed Elena's line of sight to the handsome and dapper businessman.

The group of women all turned to look at Michaelson, subtlety flying out of the window.

"He is…" Natalie purred. "What's it like working for him, Elena?"

Eight pairs of eyes turned to Elena and her uneasiness became amplified.

"He's a good man," Elena said, being purposefully vague.

"I saw you look at him earlier, Elena," one of the other ladies said. Lily Kepner was dating one of the men who were attending the event, but it was no secret that he wasn't the first man in the room that she'd 'dated'.

"Don't lie to us, Elena," Gabriella said with a hint of mocking hidden in her tone. She arched an eyebrow at Elena, "If you don't claim him, I'm sure one of us can have him tonight instead."

Elena's eyes widened slightly at Gabriella's crass insinuation, but remained polite and truthful as she said, "I don't entertain those sorts of thoughts."

The women's expressions all morphed into ones of incredulity and Elena felt a frisson of annoyance shoot through her; she didn't show it though.

As they began to laugh at her, Elena felt her small amount of confidence diminish and she walked away from the group and towards Mr Michaelson.

Only a few steps away from her goal, someone gently touched her arm to get her attention.

"Would you care for a dance Miss Pierce?"

Elena turned to face him, blinking slowly as she took in the sight before her. Dressed in a black tuxedo, the words dashing and debonair didn't seem to do him justice. His silky, obsidian hair artfully fell across his forehead, contrasting with his cerulean blue irises. His firm jaw line was cleanly shaved, his lips tilting upwards into the ghost of a smile.

Taken aback by his presence, she breathed, "Oh."

"_Oh." _

_Looking at the mess she'd made, the four year old quickly began to try and put the books away before Mrs Flowers noticed._

"_Elena dear, what was that?" The silver-haired lady rounded a bookshelf, finding the little girl with pigtails looking at the ground guiltily. _

"_I- I'm sorry," she stammered. "I was trying to put the book away, but it slipped and fell and I didn't mean it to but it did and-"_

_Something tugged at her heart-strings as she watched Elena become more and more distressed. Crouching down in front of the child, Mrs Flowers lifted a hand to the four year old's shoulder, but quickly retracted her hand when the young girl bit her lip and flinched. _

_Her brow knitting together, Mrs Flowers said gently, "My dear, why did you flinch? I'm not going to hurt you."_

_Elena looked up, her brown eyes wide and expressive, "You're not? But I knocked all your lovely books over."_

"_It was only an accident and even if it wasn't, I wouldn't raise a hand to you." The elderly lady's features became warped by worry and fear at the thought of any harm coming to the young girl who she now considered family._

"_Mrs Flowers?"_

"_Yes dear?"_

"_Can you help me put away the books please? I'm not tall like you," she pouted, her previously fearful mood replaced by one of annoyance at her own height._

_Chuckling at the child's resilience, Mrs Flowers said, "Of course, how about you pass them to me?"_

_Her pigtails bounced as she nodded her head emphatically, picking up Enid Blyton's 'The Magic Faraway Tree' and placing it in Mrs Flowers' outstretched hand. _

"_What were you trying to do when you accidentally knocked some of the books?" the lady asked as she put the books away._

"_I finished reading Cinderella! I was looking for another story and then I was going to ask you if I could borrow it." _

"_Well that was very polite of you, Elena," the lady remarked, surprised at her good manners considering her young age. _

_A pink tinge coloured Elena's cheeks as she looked at the bows on her black pumps, embarrassed by Mrs Flowers' compliment._

"_Thank you," she said quietly, feeling proud that the lady that she looked up to was happy with her behaviour._

"_Did you like Cinderella?" Mrs Flowers asked, putting the last book away on the library shelf._

_Energised by the talk of the fairy-tale, Elena clapped her dainty hands together, "I did! Mrs Flowers her dress was so beautiful!"_

"_Really? Which dress was that?" she asked, indulging the exuberant and innocent girl._

"_Her wedding dress, she was wearing it because her Prince asked her to marry him so they could live happily ever after!" The child's words were slightly stuttered as she desperately tried to say everything in one sentence._

_A smile lit up the elderly lady's face as Elena began to animatedly recount all of her favourite parts of the book. She walked to the back of the library, Elena right behind her as she made her way through a door and into the kitchen to make a cup of tea._

_Elena continued talking as she climbed up onto one of the kitchen stools, sitting and watching Mrs Flowers make some tea. By the time two cups of tea were made, Elena had finished her own little narration of the story._

_As the lady took a seat on the other kitchen stool, Elena thanked her for the hot drink and took a tiny sip of the very sugary, very milky tea._

"_Tea's yummy," Elena giggled happily, swinging her feet on the stool._

"_You're a true Brit then," Mrs Flowers laughed, picking up her copy of The Daily Mail._

"_Do you think Cinderella had tea at her wedding?" Elena asked, her expression thoughtful and serious._

"_Maybe my dear, maybe," she smiled._

_Taking another sip of tea, Elena asked, "Do you think I could have tea at my wedding?"_

_A light laugh was followed by the reply of, "You could have anything at your wedding, Elena."_

"_Even my very own Prince Charming?" Her voice was a blend of doubt and glee as she questioned the lady who she adored as a grandmother._

"_Well that's essential, my dear," she replied, looking at Elena over the tops of her glasses as she read the newspaper._

"_Even jazz music?"_

_Smiling at the young girl's love of jazz, Mrs Flowers said, "Well, would you like to have jazz music at your wedding?"_

_Cleverly mimicking the lady's earlier words, Elena said, "Well I think it's essential, Mrs Flowers."_

"_Oh it is, is it?" she jested._

_Her little face becoming adorably serious as a small frown wrinkled her forehead, Elena said, "It is." Then she added, "And a dance with him."_

"_Pardon?" Mrs Flowers asked, missing what the four year old had mumbled thoughtfully._

"_A dance."_

"A dance?" he repeated, his arm held out for her.

Without verbally answering him, Elena slipped her arm through his. The ballroom floor was behind the group that Mr Michaelson was in and as she looked over her shoulder at the couples dancing, she caught her boss' attention.

Turning his head to look at Miss Pierce, his eyes widened fractionally when he saw her on the arm of Damon Salvatore. Elijah was certain that just moments ago he'd seen him on the opposite side of the huge 'room'. Deducing that Mr Salvatore had in fact sought out Miss Pierce, Elijah's curiosity piqued; the women had always asked him to dance, never the other way round. Elijah looked at Miss Pierce, silently communicating with her. When she smiled at him and imperceptibly shook her head, he nodded and re-joined the conversation that was taking place around him.

Looking up at the man whose arm was linked with hers, she was met by an intense, blue gaze. Unable to look away, she lost herself in his eyes but managed to agree, "A dance."

After leading her onto the ballroom floor, he came to a halt. A small sense of déjà vu rippled through Elena as she stood just inches away from him again, his eyes locked onto hers. He looked breathtakingly handsome in his three-piece tuxedo and Elena suppressed a sudden and desperate urge to run her hands through the smooth strands of his raven black hair.

He was the first to move as he curled one arm around her; his hand splayed across her lower back, inciting a spark of electricity to shoot through Elena. Elena looped one arm over his shoulder, her hand resting on the expensive material of his suit which felt amazing beneath her fingers. The man then gently took her hand in his and Elena felt more sparks stem from their entwined hands, igniting her body. She fought the urge to look at their hands as she was amazed by the fact that she'd never felt the bolts of electricity before. Her eyes flickered up, meeting his just as the song that was currently playing began to diminuendo for the finish.

Another song began, but this time the piano was leading the jazz ensemble and the tempo of the music was much slower. The anonymous man began to move, sweeping Elena away in his arms. He was the perfect blend of grace and controlled power as he waltzed with her. His hold on Elena made her feel like he'd never let her go and his strong, fluid movements made her feel weightless.

"How do you know my name?" she asked, breaking the silence and trying to ignore the reaction that her body was having to his touch. He was a powerful man and the simple answer to her question would be 'because I can', the question Elena really wanted to ask was '_why _did you find out my name?'.

"It was easy enough to find out," he replied ambiguously.

"What's your name?" Elena asked instead a few moments later.

"You'll never need it," he smirked, quoting her on her reply to him when he asked her over a month ago the same question.

Elena bit her lip in order to stop herself from rolling her eyes skyward; no matter what his name was, it was obvious that he was important and she couldn't afford to be rude to him.

His eyes widened almost comically as he asked, "Did you just suppress an eye-roll?"

_Shit, _Elena thought.

"No…" she said unconvincingly.

His lips twitched as he tried to stop himself from smiling and then without any warning, he spun her out of his arms, before bringing her back into his embrace and dipping her dramatically. Her doe eyes sparkled and she let out a beautiful-sounding laugh as a smile lit up her features.

"You rolled your eyes at me Miss Pierce," he smirked triumphantly.

"No, I stopped myself from rolling my eyes at you," Elena corrected with a small smile of her own, enjoying their light conversation.

As they spun on the ballroom floor, Elena caught the arctic glares that Gabriella Monroe and the rest of the group of gossiping women were sending her. Elena quickly put two and two together and wanted to kick herself as soon as she'd reached her conclusion. She had a 1:1 English and Politics degree from Oxford University, but she hadn't known what one of the most influential men in the US looked like.

"Damon Salvatore," she stated, putting a name to the face of the man who was leading her in a slow dance.

He looked surprised for a beat and then his smirk fell back into place, "How'd you come to that conclusion?"

"It's a long story which ended just moments ago," Elena replied truthfully.

He nodded in acknowledgement of her answer while looking slightly pensive. "You really had no idea who I was until now, did you?" he asked, referring to the elevator incident.

"No, I didn't Mr Salvatore," she replied.

"If you had, would you have given me your name?" he questioned and Elena picked up on the hidden seriousness in his deep, smooth tone.

"No, my words would still have been true," she said. Her reply caused his brow to furrow slightly in thought and he remained silent for a moment.

"So why are you here?" he asked inquisitively.

"Mr Michaelson invited me."

"Ah, so how do you know Elijah?"

Observing his use of Mr Michaelson's first name, Elena briefly wondered how the two knew each other; then she brushed her thoughts aside, rationalising the fact that they both ran in the same circles and were bound to know each other.

"I work for him, Mr Salvatore."

Damon spun her out of his arms again, taking a small moment to frown and then he brought her back with a flourish. A smile curved her rouge lips and brightened her features, but it faded when he posed his next question.

"So you're sleeping with him then?"

Elena's eyes widened in shock at his unexpected and rude question, the harsh words mirroring the ones of William Tanner when she quit her job to work as Mr Michaelson's PA. Despite her feelings, she calmly answered, "No, I'm not Mr Salvatore."

"Well then why are you here?" he questioned, genuinely perplexed and completely ignorant of the effect that his ill-chosen words would have on Elena.

He was probably appalled by the fact someone so inferior to him was attending such an elitist event, Elena realised; he'd just found out that she was only an employee. It was a fair reaction on his part, but it didn't stop the hurt that sliced through her. Luckily, the song seemed perfectly timed as it ended just after Mr Salvatore posed his hurtful question. What was left of Elena's good mood had dissipated and she could no longer stand to be in a place filled with so many people. Careful not to cause a scene, Elena wore an amiable expression on her face as she gently disengaged herself from Damon Salvatore's grasp and walked away from him.

She slowly weaved her way through the elitist crowd, despite wanting to run as fast as possible. Opening one of the six-metre high, glass, Victorian-style doors, she walked out onto the veranda and closed the door behind her.

Taking a deep breath of the crisp night air, Elena looked up at the sky as she lost herself in her thoughts. She'd never felt so electrified by a single touch from a man before; she hadn't felt humiliated by a man for a long time either. No-one could make Elena feel any smaller than she already did, but she preferred for people to not remind her of how inconsequential she was. Elena had thought that she'd managed to leave that all behind, but apparently that wasn't going to happen. The first man that she'd actually felt _something _with was the one to remind Elena of her insignificance. She was more upset that he'd asked her to dance when he didn't know who she was and as soon as he'd found out that she was an employee, he'd withdrawn; it only intensified the hurt and confusion.

For a split second, Elena debated on whether or not to leave; then she grew a backbone. She was here with Mr Michaelson and if her presence was suddenly so detrimental to Mr Salvatore, he could avoid her.

The chilling air burned her lungs with every breath that she took and each whisper of the icy breeze evoked an eruption of goose-bumps on her olive skin. Elena crossed her arms as she continued to try and regain her equilibrium. Mr Salvatore had successfully knocked her sideways and she needed to find her stability again before she re-entered the gala.

Leaning on the edge of the veranda, Elena took another deep, calming breath. She'd been caught in a suspension of reality, lost in a world that she obviously didn't fit in. Yet the dress, the professionally done make-up, the thousands of dollars shoes that she wore all helped her to forget who she really was.

One simple question had caused her reality to come crashing down upon her. It was a quick and harsh reminder of the fact that she shouldn't have even attended the gala; she was stupid and naïve to have accepted Mr Michaelson's offer. She was a runaway; she lived in a flat that was falling apart and her room-mate was a criminal; she didn't _belong _in a place filled with billionaires and heirs and socialites.

The pathetic truth of it all was that she didn't know where she belonged; she never had before and she never would in the future. To belong somewhere, you need to be accepted and Elena knew that there wasn't a chance in hell of that _ever_ happening.

The sound of one of the glass doors opening pulled Elena out of her thoughts, but she didn't turn to see who it was. The person came to a stop next to her and a trace of familiar cologne filled her senses.

The pair both stood quietly for a few moments, before Mr Salvatore broke the silence.

"Say what you're thinking."

"I've been taught to stay quiet if I have nothing nice to say," she said plainly.

"Say it anyway."

"Fine," she acquiesced, but didn't turn to look at him. "That was cruel, Mr Salvatore." The biting and cold breeze whipped by and she shivered slightly.

When he didn't reply, she continued in a soft voice, "I know that I don't belong here, but you didn't need to highlight that fact so clearly with your tactless question." She shook her head, regretting ever going to the gala. "God forbid I was here because a man like Elijah Michaelson thought that it'd be good for me… No, I obviously have to be sleeping with someone powerful to even have the remote chance of being allowed to meet so many influential people."

She turned to look at him, her chocolate doe eyes darkening with emotion, "Thank you for the reality check… but it was cruel, Mr Salvatore."

His face remained impassive as he looked at her, remaining silent.

Elena kept her eyes on the ground as she walked past the stoic man, shutting the door behind her; shutting out the man who'd become her closest friend.

* * *

Damon stared after her in bewilderment, watching as she shut the door behind her; effectively shutting him out. Turning around, he walked over to the balcony and leant against it.

He couldn't believe that she'd slipped through his fingers, _again. _

Had what he'd said really been cruel?

Grimacing as he stared at the inky black sky, he knew that the answer was a resounding yes. Yes, he had been cruel.

"Fuck," he cursed quietly, regretting his insensitive words. He'd been holding the most beautiful woman in the room in his arms; the mysterious young brunette who was different to anyone else that he'd ever met before. She'd been smiling and laughing in his arms and he'd managed to ruin it within minutes.

Standing up straight, he ran a frustrated through his hair as he realised that he _regretted _what he'd said and what he'd done.

Damon Salvatore didn't do regret. He made sharp decisions, dealt with the rare consequences and never looked back. Yet as soon as he'd seen a flash of hurt in her doe eyes, he'd felt a wave of contrition crash over him. He only knew her name and somehow he was _feeling. _

Without thinking anymore, Damon re-entered the ballroom, surreptitiously scanning the expansive and lavish ballroom for Elena Pierce. The gorgeous, deep red dress that hugged her petite body made it easy to spot her. Intent on approaching her, Damon managed one step before he was interrupted.

"Damon…" Gabriella Monroe purred, placing a hand on his chest.

"Gabriella," he acknowledged curtly, his eyes flickering back to Miss Pierce.

"Don't you want to ask me to dance?" she asked coyly, her eyes glinting as she looked at him.

_No, _was Damon's immediate thought, but he bit back his terse reply. He knew Mr Monroe and rejecting his daughter could have many unwanted ramifications. He'd slept with the woman once when he was under the influence of _a lot _of alcohol and now she'd come back for more.

_Damn._

"One dance," he said, holding his arm out to her.

Unfortunately, for the next twenty minutes, Gabriella clung to him. As she talked and flirted with him, Damon kept his eyes on Miss Pierce; he had to talk to her.

Just as he was about to excuse himself because he couldn't take any more of the Gabriella Monroe's unashamed attempts at seduction, he saw Miss Pierce on the arm of Mr Michaelson. The large, imposing, arching doors at the front of the impressive building were pulled open by a pair of butlers. Powerless, Damon watched as the brunette walked through the doors, his chance at talking to her gone.

_Fuck._

* * *

"Mr Michaelson, you don't have to do this, I can stay in a hotel for the night," Elena said, looking at the man sat opposite her in the limousine.

"You're staying, okay?" he said, his voice husky from his obvious exhaustion.

"You're going above and beyond," Elena said, a grateful smile curving her lips.

"I could say the same to you," he shot back light-heartedly, referring to all the extra work she did in regards to his daughter.

"Touché," she muttered, feigning annoyance.

"You were amazing tonight, you know," he said after a few moments of comfortable silence.

Elena's eyebrows drew together, showing her confusion at his sudden words.

"I wouldn't go nearly as far as that," she spoke softly in her British lilt.

"I would," he replied instantly, a combination of fatigue and liquor loosening his tongue.

"You made Thomas Leroy _laugh. _That man only becomes more ruthless and cutting with age; he tones it down at events like the gala tonight, but very few people see another side of him. Yet somehow you…" he shook his head in disbelief and amazement, his chestnut hair becoming more dishevelled.

Elena didn't say anything, sensing that the man in front of her had more to say.

"Miss Pierce, I know you only attended tonight to make contacts, but you didn't act like a journalist once; you never even mentioned the fact that you have a column in The New York Times. You were speaking with men who I've spent years building a rapport with and after speaking with them for less than twenty minutes, they couldn't seem to stop complimenting you."

He looked up at her, "My point is, you could've used tonight for your own benefit and gathered so many interviews and so much information, but you didn't." He stifled a yawn and Elena had to hold back a small laugh at how endearingly young he looked in that moment. "You were amazing tonight," he repeated, the conviction held in his words causing a well of emotion to rise within Elena.

She cast her gaze to floor, murmuring a simple but meaningful, "Thank you." She waited a second and then added, "You know, I never even considered using tonight to make contacts. I don't know if that makes me stupid or not."

"You could never be stupid, Miss Pierce," he yawned again, mid-sentence, "Far from it…" Elijah was too tired to see the blush that tinted Miss Pierce's cheeks in response to his compliment.

The limo slowed to a stop and Harris opened the door. Mr Michaelson gestured for Elena to get out first and then he gracefully exited the limo after her.

"Thank you, Lucas," Elena said to Mr Michaelson's driver.

Elijah nodded his thanks at his driver and then made his way to the door. After unlocking it, he held it open for Elena.

As he closed the door, Elena turned to face him. Studying his tired face, she realised that the last time she'd seen him this drained was the night that she'd first met him; the only time that she'd ever seen him lose his temper.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

"I will be in the morning," he replied with a weary smile.

Her feet aching, Elena bent down to undo the straps on her heels and then slipped them off. As she stood up again with her new shoes in hand, Mr Michaelson said, "I'll show you to your room."

Elena followed him up the stylistic, spiralling wooden stairs and down one of the wide corridors that had beautiful wenge wood flooring. When he stopped outside a door, he took a step back so that she could enter the room.

Elena took a few steps forward so that she was closer to him. Without her heels she on she was a whole head shorter than him and had to tilt her head back to look at him. Standing on her tip toes, she leaned in to gently kiss his cheek.

"Goodnight, Mr Michaelson."

She was met with a languid smile as she pulled back, lowering her heels back to the ground.

"Goodnight Miss Pierce," he said as he walked away from Elena, leaving her to sleep in a lavishly decorated bedroom.

Elena stood in the room, her heels hanging on the tips of her fingers as she slowly twirled around to take in her new surroundings. The room was exquisite, but all Elena could think about was everything that had transpired between herself and a certain blue-eyed man. After completing a full circle, she stood still, her mind filled with comparisons between how the women described Damon Salvatore and what the man himself was like.

"Prince Charming my ass," she murmured.


End file.
